


Paper Flowers

by smallybells



Series: Paper Flowers [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Consent, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Frisk is gender-neutral, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No More Resets, Oral Sex, Peaceful, Post-Pacifist Route, Racism to monsters, Reader Has A Name, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Selectively Mute Frisk, Self-Insert, Slow Sex, Smut, Steamy, Teasing, Tragedy, Vaginal Fingering, handjob, lime at ch. 12, oooooo damn things are steamy, puns, sans has a blue dick, slow foreplay, smut at ch. 15, terminal illness, the punniest puns you'll ever hear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5790103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallybells/pseuds/smallybells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There it stood; a lone, yellow flower made from paper. He picked it up and examined it, his grin spreading wider across his face. Inside the petals contained a message written in black ink, and the small gesture made him chuckle.</p><p>Instead of throwing it away, he gently placed it inside his pocket.</p><p>Maybe there would be more tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cool. my first fanfiction on ao3. hope i keep up this motivation.  
> also this is my first undertale fanfiction. i hope i do justice.  
> comments (plEASE), hits, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated.  
> thanks y'all. <3

Your life was simmering with tragedies, secrets, and strangeness—all which the fate was easily accepted.

But you could never absorb the fact that you were terminally ill. 

The word "cancer" took roots in your brain and grew into something horrifying. The creature spread through your body and created abnormal amounts of white blood cells like an assembly line. And the words "Acute lymphoblastic leukemia" and "end stage" and "terminal" rang in your mind, as if it were a gong that never stopped. 

The recommendation from the doctors was, obviously, chemotherapy and loyal hospital care. But if you only had six months to live, what was the point of spending another few months going back and forth, to and from the hospital? Did that mean you couldn't do the things you wanted to do in all of your twenty years of living? You knew that if you took the chemotherapy, you would have the chances of living longer. But that would only bring more pain to your body, to your mind, and leave you in a state of despair. 

Strangely enough, you never cried when you found out. 

You held strong, though. Tears pooled in your eyes, threatening to slip, and your lower lip quivered like an earthquake. 

But you didn't yell. You didn't let yourself tremble and collapse in sobs. 

Instead, you made a picture in your mind just as your papa had taught you, and imagined all of the things you could do in such a short amount of time. You could go on a week long vacation, or maybe even two! You could make new friends and be bold, just like how your mother tried to teach you. You could eat whatever you want without worrying about your diet, or weight for all that matters! 

You tried to smile, but the corners of your lips only twitched. You sat on your bed for a long time. An hour, two hours, all day? You lost count. But it had been long enough that the sun had drifted across the sky and was now warming your knees as they pulled against your chest. You looked out the window, watching birds fly through slivers of sunlight that glimmered down in rays, and you heard children's voices—monster and human alike—flutter with laughter as they danced under the golden veils of sunlight. 

Your heart stung in your chest.

* * *

"I'd love to meet your friends, Toriel."

Toriel was such a kind monster that lived across from you. She moved in two months ago when the barrier between monsters and humans were shattered. Ever since you met her, her hands—no, her claws, were always full with Frisk. Running, stomping, fumbling, and laughing, they were quite a handful. And with Toriel's exhausted figure, you wondered if she was even used their behavior. You also often wondered how long Toriel had Frisk under her care, or if their parents tried to fight back for custody. 

You decided not to ask. 

"I'm sorry to bring this upon you, dear," her gaze was soft on you, but her eyes were bright with eagerness. "but you are one of the only humans we've met that welcomed Frisk and I with open arms. The flat next to yours has also been open for quite some time, and I think it will be a great opportunity for them to move in as soon as possible. It's not common you find homes that welcome monsters." 

"No, no, don't be sorry at all!" you shook your head and proffered a thin smile. "Monster or not, I welcome anyone. As long as they don't make any... obscene noises, or any of that sort, I think we'll get along well." 

Toriel chuckled. "They're not like that at all. Well, one of them is quite loud and abrasive, but not in the way you're thinking!" She scratched her cheek and smiled. "I'm glad you understand, (Y/N)." 

Suddenly, silence weighed over you two. Her eyebrows knitted together with growing concern. "Are you alright, dear? You seem out of it." 

You couldn't tell her. As much as you loved your dear friend, you couldn't 

Not yet. 

"I'm okay," you yawned. "I'm just a little tired. I haven't slept well in the past few days." 

Okay. It wasn't a full lie. But it would have to do for now. 

And when she didn't buy it, you only grinned and waved your hand. 

"Don't worry, Toriel. I just need a good night's rest. Or day's. Actually, a whole day sleeping and lazing around sounds pretty amazing." 

The tension seemed to lessen in her bristly features, and she laughed. You felt yourself release a breath you didn't know you were holding. 

"If that's the case, then you best be heading to bed now. I'm sure you'll be refreshed in no time!" 

"I promise,  _mom._ " you teased her, which only made her smile more. "Give Frisk a kiss for me, would you?"

"Of course." 

You shut the door when she left to her room, and gently you placed your forehead against the door. 

_'How can I tell her?'_

* * *

You sat at your desk that night, your journal flat open in front of you, and slowly you tapped the tip of the pen against the paper.

What did you even want to do? Earlier, you had so many bright ideas. But with your journal staring right back at you, your mind felt dull and broken.

You thought of your friends. Well, your only friends, Toriel and Frisk. Your parents had died long ago, and being an only child, you didn't have many others you would consider. Chewing on your lower lip, you began to write.

1. **Make Toriel and Frisk smile everyday.**

That was a good start, right?

You impatiently tapped your pen against the paper, up to a point where you began to doodle smiles and hearts over the sheet. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly, almost hesitantly, write.

     2.   **Find my first love.** ❤

It was a stretch. A good 0.0001% chance you'll find them.  _'I'm better having a one-night stand with someone. But who would want a virgin nowadays?'_ you thought, frowning to yourself and shaking your head. Maybe you should cross it out...

You paused.

Then you laughed.

Why the hell not? You decided to keep it. 

     3.   **Quit my jobs.**

Easy. You hated your jobs. Working two retail companies for five years wasn't exactly an ideal way of life, and even now considering your position. You've worked since you were fifteen, right after your mother died. When you graduated, you picked up the second job, and never went to college. Although, the pay was rather low. Salary, on average, was $10,000 for both jobs. With the tax refund, you made roughly $8,000. But over the past five years, you've barely spent money. You paid your bills, and for groceries, and toiletries. But even you learned at a young age how to be tight with money. 

So, with those necessary splurges, you had a little over $65,000 in your account. 

_'Oh, I'll be more than fine.'_

     4.   **Welcome & befriend neighbors.**

Even you didn't even have to think it through. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't welcome friends of Toriel and Frisk? 

     5.   **Take a vacation (with or without friends).**

You didn't care. You wanted to leave somewhere, whether it be with Toriel and Frisk, or maybe the neighbors if you do, perchance, become friends with them. 

You also didn't give a shit where to go. You were tired of caring too much for the little things, tired of working yourself to the  _bone_. You wanted a break. You wanted  _fun_ , for the first time in what it seemed like forever. 

Taking a look at your small, pitiful bucket list, you actually smiled. 

You knew you would be adding more to it as time went on. It was inevitable. 

But surely this was just the beginning of it. 

* * *

 You woke up to thumps against the wall next to your flat. A groan bubbled in the back of your throat, and you rubbed the corner of your eyes. You continued to lay in bed; tired, aching, and wondering what the  _hell_ that noise was. Muffled voices were heard, and multiple crashings, yelps, and laughter. 

Then, you heard Toriel's voice. You could even hear the smile in it. 

Finally, you smiled, too, realization hitting you like a bullet. 

_'They must be Toriel's friends.'_

You sat up in bed, giving your eyes a gentle massage before walking out of the door. Looking in front, you see Toriel's door wide open, the monster nor her child nowhere to be found. 

Another crash. 

A chuckle. 

And complaints. Many, many  _loud_ complaints. You drew the words, something along of "clumsy" and "lazybones." The conversation continued.

"SANS. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU  _NOT_ TO PUT GLASSWARE AND MY ACTION FIGURES TOGETHER? THEY COULD GET SCRATCHED. AND NOW LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE; THEY'RE ALL OVER THE FLOOR!"

"c'mon, bro, are you telling me i'm a  _pane_ in the  _glass?_ " 

You heard a loud groan, and you couldn't help but smile a _very_ shameful smile. 

"UGH. YES, I AM. PLEASE PICK THEM UP THIS INSTANT." 

"that's some  _shattering_ news, pap. i'm hurt." 

Okay. That's it. You couldn't help but think how fun they were already just by listening to them. 

You could hear the irritation in the louder voice. "WHATEVER! I'LL DO IT MYSELF." 

"I can help." 

Four heads turn towards you, a smile breaking through Toriel and Frisk's face. 

"Oh, good morning, (Y/N)! I hope we haven't woken you up." 

You shook your head. "No worries. I got enough sleep, that's all that matters." you said, looking towards the two skeletons. Their appearances didn't surprise you in the slightest. They're monsters—what else can you expect? 

"TORIEL, IS THIS THE HUMAN YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?" 

She nodded, and it was all the approval the taller skeleton needed. He extended his hand. 

"HELLO, HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM PLEASED TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"

You laughed at his rather tight grip and persona. "I'm (Y/N)," you tossed a glance over to the short skeleton. "and you?" 

"sans," he responded. "i would shake your hand, but i'm kind of in a  _sharp_ situation right now." 

Papyrus fumed and rolled his eyes at his brother's terrible jokes, and you would, too, if you had the energy for it. Instead, your lips pulled up into a sly grin. "I would respond with another pun, but my brain isn't working too well this morning. Next time, though!" you promised, and Sans couldn't help but grin in return of your sense of humor. But, wait, wasn't he smiling from the start?

"s'okay, kid. we have all the time in the world, y'know?" 

You faltered. 

They didn't seem to notice your change of expression.

"DON'T WORRY, HUMAN. WE WILL TAKE CARE OF OUR BELONGINGS. BUT I, THE MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, SHALL INVITE YOU FOR A SPAGHETTI DINNER IN CELEBRATION OF OUR ARRIVAL. PLEASE, DO COME."

You openly giggled at his uproaring personality. "Shouldn't I be the one cooking you guys dinner? You only just moved in. It would be more appropriate." 

"NONSENSE, HUMAN. IT IS OUR RESPONSIBILITY TO THANK THE HUMAN WHO HAS WELCOMED US SO AS NEIGHBORS." 

You thought for a moment, and looked around the room. Boxes were tipped over, glass was shattered on the ground, and the you could only guess that they're waiting for their furniture to arrive. 

"How about this:" you proposed. "Come to my apartment at seven. I have ingredients to make spaghetti, and we can all chip in a little. Sound good?" 

Papyrus's expression brightened, and suddenly you were reminded of the sun. No, seriously. You almost thought he was  _glowing._

"WONDERFUL, HUMAN! SANS, HOW DOES THAT SOUND TO YOU?" 

"sounds great," Sans winked at you, and looked at Frisk. "you better come too, lil' boss. and tori, too. though, i think pap is right, for once," you could see the flames in the annoyance in Papyrus's eyes, and hear the teasing seeping in Sans's voice. "you are the nicest compared to the other humans we've come across in the past couple months. i think it'll be a real treat for all of us." 

You found yourself liking the shorter skeleton's logic. 

"Well, I guess it's settled." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, thanks so far for the hits, kudos, and bookmarks!! i'm lovin' every second of it.  
> i'm actually very self-conscious about how i portray sans here. sorry if i don't do him justice.

Okay. That was cool. Toriel, Frisk, and the two brothers were coming over for dinner. No biggie. 

But you didn't know what the  _hell_ you were going to wear. 

Over the past five years of saving like some maniacal penny-pincher, you never took the time to buy any nice pieces of clothing. You owned jeans, sweatpants, a pair of sneakers, old hoodies, t-shirts, and a few bras and panties. Done. Nothing special, nothing expensive. Most were hand-me-downs and were bought on clearance, not at a high-end store. But there were so many times you stopped by boutiques and looked at the mannequins, the soft cloth adorned and wrapped nicely around the plastic body, and wondered how you would look if you wore that, and how happy you'd feel if you would just own  _one_ nice piece of clothing. 

You sighed and rubbed your hand over your face. Maybe that should be your next thing on your bucket list. 

    6.   **Buy nice clothes for once.**

You made a mental note. 

As the noise next door died down, you took a moment to recall the introduction. Papyrus was the tall, loud one, and Sans was the short, comical one. You smiled at the memory of his piss-poor jokes and Papyrus's priceless reaction. There was a feeling in the back of your heart that you would become good friends with the two. Well, you hope to, at least. 

Taking this time, you decided to clean your flat for company. Wiping the counters, washing dishes, and getting the ingredients ready to cook.

Sitting back down at your desk, you groaned softly and rubbed your temples. 

_'Guess I could finish that list.'_

You added a sixth item on the list and rested your hand on your cheek, wracking your brain left and right. You never thought bucket lists were so hard to make... 

And, honestly, you never really wanted a lot in life. The simplest, smallest things make you happy. New books, blankets fresh from the dryer, bath bombs, finding money in unexpected places... None of those were really dying wishes, you thought. 

"Fuck it. Screw it. I'm bullshitting my way through this." you mumbled to yourself.

    7.   **Fly in first class.**

8\.   **Get a puppy.**

9\.   **Help someone in need.**

10\.   **Make a shitty scrapbook.**

    11. **To be meaningful to somebody.**  

    12.  **Wear a wedding dress.**

13.  **Visit mom and dad's grave one last time.**

14.  **To love and feel loved.**

15.  **Die peacefully.**

You leaned back. 

 _Now_ you feel satisfied. 

* * *

Now that your life span is thinning, you reminisce to your childhood, and deeply frowned. Sometimes, you wish you were more like your mother. She was straightforward, open, and easy to talk to. You were quiet, you stumbled on your words, and you tended to drift away from the main subject. 

See, you carried your words you never said, folded neatly in a brown suitcase with its torn leather peeling at the edges, clearly displaying its old age. The burden of the words you carry everyday drags on and on, piling deep inside of your luggage. If words had a voice of their own, they would tell you that they wish they had someplace permanent to call home. Yet they remain with you and travel everywhere you go. At times they get a little lost on the way. They spill onto the ground and get left on lonely streets, or ooze their way between slabs of sidewalks.

You've faced the fact that they’re destined to end up in any place except for where they belong. 

All in all, you didn't know how you could become friends with Sans and Papyrus. You easily became friends with Toriel due to your kindness towards her and Frisk, but something is scratching in the back of your heart. What if they don't take kindness so easily? What if they won't accept your friendship in time? You chewed on your lower lip in frustration.

Really, there weren't many humans who accepted monsters and treated them as equally. The hate for monsters grew only stronger in the span of two months, and it frightened you. The neighborhood you lived was a monster-friendly community, and there were only a handful near you. It's terrible what anti-monsters do to them, let alone what they do to monster supporters.

You hummed, clearly not trusting the full safety of the community, despite how long you've lived there. Still, you thought, it was still safer than others. 

_Knock knock._

You jerked from the sudden noise. Looking back at your clock, you furrowed your eyebrows. They must have gotten the times confused; they're an hour early!

Going to the door, you peeked through and saw a closeup of Sans's face against the scope. You squealed in surprise, stumbling back a little. You heard a laugh through the other side. 

"c'mon, you're supposed to say, 'who's there?'" 

"Uh... wh-who's there?" 

"boo." 

Oh. You knew what was coming, but you wanted to humor him. "Boo who?"

"aw, kid, don't cry! i don't bite. i just came by to see ya." 

As corny and cringe-y as it was, you had to laugh. Unlocking the door, you opened it to see him, hands shoved in his pocket and that same shiteating grin he wore from before. "Alright, alright, come in." 

He chuckled and walked in, taking a quick look around your apartment. "looks just like ours, except... cleaner." 

"That's expected." Sans laughed again. "Uh, you can make yourself at home, but... you're an hour early." 

"i know." 

"And, um, I haven't even started boiling the water, or..."

"i know." 

You looked at him, and he looked at you, and you sorta gave a laugh of defeat. "Okay, so... what brings you here?"

He was slouched against the couch and he shrugged. "is it wrong to know a little bit about our new neighbor?"

"You could've done that during dinner." 

"well, normally i'm a sack of lazybones, but..." he trailed off. You held back a groan from his words. "it's not often you see a human who's willing to offer hospitality and kindness to a monster. so, y'know, i'm..." Sans paused, and you can detect a hint of uncertainty behind his voice. "heh. lost the word for a minute. i'm... i guess you can say i'm intrigued. it's kinda rare seeing that, even after a couple months." 

You hummed, sitting next to the shorter skeleton. "I understand. I don't want to jump into conclusions here, but... I wanna say that you don't exactly  _trust_ me." 

His expression, somehow, grew a little darker. "heh. was that obvious?" 

You offered a smile to him, regardless of the chills that were sent down your spine. "A little. But it's still understandable. Even I don't trust humans that well, so... well, if..." you stumbled on your words. Nervously, you chuckled, and was thankful for his patience. "if you'll let me, I can help you. I can show you that I can be trusted. But, uh, that's if you'll let me..." 

He noticed your voice, how it got softer and lower, and diminutive. Of course, he  _wanted_ to trust you. Any friend of Toriel and Frisk could be easily trusted in his book, but he had to be cautious. Not only for Toriel and Frisk's sake, but for his brother's sake, too. 

"hey, don't look so down, kid," he patted your shoulder. "don't beat yourself up. it ain't your fault. i just gotta make sure that you're not one of  _those_ types of humans," he tried to reason in attempt to ease you. 

You raised an eyebrow. "Why do you call me kid? I'm almost twenty-one. Unless you're way over fifty, then that would be explainable. And kind of creepy. Here I thought an old skeleton would be hitting on me. Instead, I'm being interrogated." 

"and what if i am some old creep? magic does wonders, y'know."

Ah, magic. You read about that. But your expression grew a little wary at the thought. 

It was his turn to laugh. "now look who's interrogating me. don't worry, i'm just pullin' your bones here, kid." 

You found yourself smiling at his humor. From his jokes, to his laidback nature, and to his protectiveness, you wondered if you could become good friends with him and his brother at this point. 

Sans stood up as soon as you relaxed, and ruffled the top of your head. "i'll be heading back. see ya in an hour?" 

You gave a nod in response and watched him leave. Sitting in silence for a few minutes, there was only one thing on your mind. 

_'Does he always smile like that?'_

* * *

 When Papyrus brought glitter and foreign sauces for the spaghetti dinner, you almost had a heart attack.

"H-Hey, Papyrus?" 

"YES, HUMAN?"

"Why did you bring glitter?" 

"YOU PUT IT ON THE SPAGHETTI TO MAKE IT LOOK NICE. I SAW IT ON A TV SHOW. DO YOU NOT PUT THIS ON YOUR SPAGHETTI?"

"Um, I think..." you tried not to laugh, glancing back to Sans and to Papyrus. "I think you're confused between glitter and parmesan cheese." 

"OH." Papyrus's gaze twitched a little. "DOES... THAT MEAN MY SPAGHETTI IS NOT GOOD?" 

You were quick to defend. "Oh, no, no, I'm sure your spaghetti is amazing!" you giggled. "It's just that I may have some things here that would make your spaghetti taste even  _better._ They're on the counter if you wanna take a look." 

Then, as before, his expression gleamed, and he quickly stormed into the kitchen. Sans tossed you a wink. 

"nice save. he looks happier." 

"Well, we all wouldn't want to choke on tiny bits of glitter, would we?" 

"yeah, we'd be sent straight to our  _cough_ -ins."

You paused. You looked at Sans, who was waiting for you to catch on. 

"Wh...Why?" you ask, trying your hardest not to laugh. It was so stupid. It was so terrible, and you  _loved_ it.

"what can i say? i have a real  _sick_ sense of humor." 

"It's easy for you," you nudged him. "'cuz for you, it's a  _no brainer._ " 

That's when he laughed with no shame. "ouch," he said between chuckles. "that kinda stung." 

"Sorry..." you smiled sheepishly. 

"hey, when you're makin' jokes like that around me, you have no excuse to be sorry." 

"HUMAN," you heard the taller skeleton exclaim. He held up a box high in the air. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?" 

"Yeah!" you reply, and enjoyed the enthusiasm of the eccentric brother. "Let's start cooking before Toriel and Frisk come. It'll save them some trouble." 

"I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK, HUMAN." 

Somehow, as you cluttered in the kitchen, you felt relieved. Just for a little while, the weight and stress of your cancer is lifted off your shoulders as you cooked with Papyrus, and listened to Sans make his terrible jokes. 

Just for a little while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. thanks for all the hits and kudos! this is surprising. i'm glad y'all like this so much thus far.  
> constructive feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

"Hey, Frisk, you got some sauce on your face." 

They tilted their head to the side and pointed at the corner of their mouth. You smiled and shook your head. 

"No, no, it's right over here." you took your spoon and smeared some across your chin, erupting giggles from the child. 

Then, they shook their head and pointed at you. "What? Now I've got something on my face?" when you received a nod, you asked, "Where? Is it here?" 

You smeared more sauce, but on your left cheek this time. "Or is it here?" On your right cheek. 

"NO, HUMAN, IT'S ALL OVER YOUR FACE." 

"What? No, I don't feel anything!" you feigned innocence, but you couldn't hide the smile that crawled on your features. That earned a laugh from Toriel. "I think you're just seeing things, guys. It's clearly on Frisk's face!" 

As soon as you looked back, Frisk began to place droplets of red sauce on their face and mouth, Toriel immediately reaching to wipe it off with a napkin. 

"what a great role model you are, (y/n)." 

"Hey," you laughed, deciding to clean your face, too. "gotta keep us all going here, right?" 

"No more playing with your food, you two," Toriel scolded you and Frisk, but instead you only grinned. You decided to ignore her for a little. 

"Hey, hey Sans," you began, stifling giggles. "did you hear about the Italian chef that died?" 

Before he answered, Papyrus jolted. "WHAT? WHO? WHEN?" 

"Yeah. He  _pasta way._ " 

"i'm sure his legacy will become a  _pizza_ history." he laughed.

"It's sad how he ran out of  _thyme._ " 

You snorted, and Sans pushed forward. "his wife is pretty upset, i heard.  _cheese_ still not over it." 

"I'm sending  _olive_ my prayers to his family." 

"NO! STOP IT, YOU TWO! (Y/N), DO NOT LET MY BROTHER INFLUENCE YOU." 

"do you need a tickle on your  _funny bone_ , pap?" 

He almost screamed.

* * *

  **XX-XX-201X**

 **Dinner was a success. Frisk was being a cutie, as always.  
** **Turns out Papyrus really hates puns.  
** **It seems like Sans trusts me a little more now. I can only hope for the best.**

You placed your pen down. You were smiling. 

 _'At least,'_ you thought,  _'I'm able to get plenty of laughs before I die.'_

* * *

 _"What?_ You quit your jobs?" 

Nonchalantly, you sipped your tea Toriel offered you. "Mm."

"But why?" she asked. "You've worked at one of them since you were only a teenager. And the other one only for a couple years. Why quit now, in such a spur of the moment?"  

"It's..." you sighed. Jeez, how can you word this without breaking the news? "That's... the reason, I guess. I've worked so hard since I was a teen, with barely any days off. I think it'll be nice to stop working for a little bit, maybe take a breather. And I have the experience under my belt, so if I need to get another job, I think it would be easy to find a place." 

You were hoping she would buy your little white lie. 

"This is so unlike you, (Y/N)," she chuckled. "When I first met you, there were a few things I immediately thought. One of them is how hard you worked, not only to make other people happy but to keep your customers and managers happy. What's the sudden change about?" 

You wanted to tell her. The poor goat-like woman had been through so much, and she was so kind and caring to you. 

Maybe you can wait a little longer. 

"I'm just... tired, Tori," you sipped your tea. It burned your tongue. "I want to relax for a little. I want to be able to watch Frisk if you need to step out, or walk Frisk to school, or to make new friends. Maybe I can go on a vacation like I've always talked about, huh?" you tried to smile in attempt to lift the spirits. "I want some new clothes, I want to change my hair... I don't want to come home from work everyday past midnight with no food in my stomach, only to have you come over and make me something. As much as I love you, as a friend and a mother figure, I can't put that burden on you any longer. I want to do things for myself, I want to do things for you and Frisk in return, I want to take time off to know Sans and Papyrus more. That's the least I can do for now, right? Make your friends feel at home, make you and Frisk laugh and smile... Toriel, I want to _live_ a life for once."

You were tearing up, and her expression softened in sympathy. "Oh, my child..." She reached for your hand and stroked the back of it. You took comfort from it. "You don't have to do any of that for us." 

You wiped your eyes, desperate to rid the evidence of tears. "I know, Toriel. I know I don't have to, but... I want to. I  _need_ to. Just for a few months, I want to make you guys feel welcome and at home, I want to make you guys feel safe. And not only that, but... I want to feel like I have a family to look up to." 

She hushed you soothingly, and gave you a kind smile. Her motherly figure and instincts made you want to sob on her shoulder. "I understand, but your happiness should always come first. Though, I'm sure my words here won't alter your intuitions. It's how you were made." 

You attempted a laugh, but it came out as a broken sob. "Th-Thank you, Toriel..." 

"I sense," she continued, her hand continuing to stroke your skin. "that something truly is wrong, for you wouldn't have cried like such. But I won't press forward, for your sake, if you do not want to tell me." 

 _'Mothers really do know best.'_ you had to smile at your own thought. "I will, Toriel. I promise. But now, I have to let things sort of sink in. And..."

There was a pregnant pause. "And what, child?" 

You wiped the remaining tears off your face. "I have some shopping to do." 

* * *

 "Okay, (Y/N), do the math," you murmured, tearing a sheet of paper from your journal. "I have $65,000 in my account. On average a month, I pay around $1,200 for groceries. Multiply that by six and... Okay, that's $7,200 taken away for the remaining six months I have. The rent is $650, plus $350 for electric and water... that leaves with $1,000. And times that by six again..." You circled the number. "$6,000. Okay, in total that's $13,200 taken away from my account, leaving me with nearly $52,000..." 

You stared at the paper, as if you were waiting for it to come alive and speak to you. 

Rubbing your eyes, you gave a breathy laugh. 

"That's still a shitload of cash I got there. Oh my god..." 

You felt like you were going to cry again, but of happiness this itme. You've never had that much money in your entire life. 

Ripping another piece of paper, you wrote down Toriel, Frisk, Sans, and Papyrus. Under each name were little bullets at the side, blank spaces waiting to be filled. 

Grabbing the sheet, you folded it and shoved it in the pocket of your sweatpants. You ran out of your flat, and quickly knocked on Toriel's door. 

Opening it, the goat monster smiled. "Are you okay now, child? Is there anything you need?" 

You nodded. 

"Tell me more about Sans and Papyrus." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so surprised with the amount of hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks i'm getting here. "holy sweet jesus" is an understatement here.  
> sorry this is a shitty chapter. and sorry that i'm struggling a lot with sans. i'm not used to playing a character like him quite yet. D: i would like a lot of tips if you can give them about my portrayal of sans. <3 <3

When your mother died, you never placed flowers on her grave. They withered easily, they get blown away, and they make you sneeze. 

Instead, you crafted paper flowers. Of course, it was more of a tedious process with the precise size of papers, the colors, the foldings, and the determination of  _not_ getting a paper cut. But what you loved about them is that you took the time to write little messages inside the petals. It was a neat, cute little thing you liked to do, but at the time of your mother's death, crafting them was all you could do to appease some of your sorrows. 

**why did you have to die, mom?**

**i love you. come home.**

**fuck drunk drivers. i don't wanna drink when i'm older.**

**or drive.**

**i got a job at retail. it sucks. at least i get 25% off of clothes.**

**i caught dad drinking in the cellar. he's been doing that lately.  
i threw away most of the bottles. please don't be mad at me.**

You never sat by the grave and talked to her, waiting for what it would seem like ages for her to return the conversation. Instead, you wrote your thoughts, news, or complaints in the petals of the paper. Neatly placing them against the grave, you would stare at the slab of stone for a few moments, and then leave. 

The messages you put always put in there were strictly between you and the grave. 

And you liked to keep it that way. 

To this day, even at nearly twenty-one, you never drank or drive in fear of reliving your mother's fate. Of course, you now have something much more worse than an instant, yet painless car accident. Really, knowing that you have six months to live fucking kills. 

At least you had the remaining time to do whatever you want. Your mother didn't. 

However grim that thought may be, it was the bitter truth. 

When you came home from shopping, you couldn't remember how long it has been since you were this happy. From new clothes, to new hair, to new shoes, and to new makeup— _oh,_ how you missed makeup—you were glowing. Shining. Elated. High on happiness. You stared at yourself, wondering if it was the same person from the day before. You nearly wanted to cry.

But you couldn't keep standing in front of the mirror, ogling at your transformation. You reached for the remaining shopping bags and pulled out gifts specifically chosen for your friends. They were simple; books and decorations. You didn't know too much about Sans and Papyrus, using only the limited information Toriel provided. But what Toriel didn't know is that you got both her and Frisk gifts, too, as an appreciation for your friendship. 

You bought a cookbook for Papyrus: 100 Pasta Recipes. Many were complex, many were simple, but knowing little quirks about him, you know that he would be able to pull these off with practice. 

For Frisk, you bought them Monopoly and a series of card games. You know that they like games and puzzles. Choosing the right gift for the child was easy. 

Toriel was a little easy, too. You bought her a glass teapot with three exotic teas from around the world. 

But Sans?

Hell. It took you  _hours_ to find a good gift for him. You jumped from a box kit filled with childish pranks, to a book of corny jokes, and to a mug in the shape of a skull. They all seemed to fit him somehow, but you were worried if you were going overboard. You didn't want to try to make a statement or anything, or make it seem like you were trying to buy his trust. 

Ah. You know what? Fuck it. You're dying. You decided to jump the gun and buy all three, and planned to give those gifts in due time. But for today, you will settle on giving him the book of jokes. Gotta splurge a little, right? After all, it was not often you had this opportunity to spoil your new, yet odd set of friends. 

You vowed to make it all worth it in the end. 

* * *

 It was ten when you knocked on the door, only to have Sans open it seconds later. 

"Hey, Sans." 

"oh... hey," he greeted after moments of staring. "sorry. didn't recognize ya for a second, with your hair and clothes and all. you... you look good, kid." 

"Oh... thank you," you smiled. You felt your heart flutter, just for a little. "Is it okay if I come in?" You held a bag up in the air, signaling your gifts for them. 

Surprise glossed in his eyes. "yeah, sure," he stepped aside. "i'm about to read pap a story. you can join if you want." 

A bedtime story? 

How precious can those two get? 

"I'd love to. It's good that he's still awake. Oh, here," you reached in the bag and pulled out the wrapped book. "I got you something. Take it as a welcoming gift. I'm... sorry if it isn't much. I couldn't think of anything else to give for now." 

He held the gift in his hands, weighing it, observing the neat and colorful wrapping. "this... is for me?" 

You nodded. 

"wow. uh, thanks," he gave a breathy chuckle. "this is something i didn't expect." 

"Neither did I. Why don't you open it?" 

Almost a little too eagerly, he tore the paper and chuckled when he saw the cover. "'500 corny jokes'? wow. this... this is great, (y/n). really, this is. guess i'm pretty easy to _read_ , huh?" 

You felt relief wash over you, despite his terrible joke. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that. All of the stores were _booked_ today." 

"SANS, IS THAT THE TALLER HUMAN'S VOICE I HEAR?" you heard papyrus from his room. In response, you laughed. 

"Hi, Pap!" 

"HELLO, HUMAN! WILL YOU BE JOINING US TONIGHT?" 

What a sweetheart. "Of course. And I have a surprise for you, too!" 

You could hear the eagerness in his voice when he responded. Sans nudged his hand against your arm and guided you to his room. Staring at the bright walls, the racecar bed, and the action figures laid out neatly on his desk, a smile broke through your lips. 

"HUMAN, YOU LOOK DIFFERENT," Papyrus immediately pointed out, pulling the covers over his lanky body. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" 

"I just bought some new clothes and changed my hair," you said. "Thought it would be nice for a change." 

His eyes darted at the bag. "WHAT'S IN THERE, HUMAN?" 

"Oh," you sat at the corner of his bed, pulling out the gift. "It's for you. Here, open it!" 

The younger skeleton brother sat up in his bed, eagerly reaching for the present. "WOWIE! A PRESENT? FOR ME? BUT CHRISTMAS ISN'T HERE YET!" 

Laughing, you responded. "It doesn't have to be Christmas to give gifts, Papyrus. There's also birthdays, and special occasions... This is a welcoming gift. And since you like cooking, well..." 

Taking the hint, his fingers ripped through the paper and his eyes sparkled in awe. "A... A COOKBOOK?! WITH DIFFERENT TYPES OF SPAGHETTI?!" You saw a blush rise, and... were those tears? "OH, HUMAN, THANK YOU! PLEASE REMIND ME, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, TO COOK YOU A SPECIAL DINNER TOMORROW IN RETURN." 

"There's no need," you shook your head and smiled. "You must be tired from the move in. Why don't you take a couple days to rest, and then maybe we can all cook again like yesterday?" 

Nodding ardently at your suggestion, Sans stepped in and sat next to you. 

"now, pap, how 'bout that story?" 

* * *

 

You understood the power of stories. It had some sort of magical ability to refill the wounded parts of people, of monsters, and it had this special touch to make you forget. Crafted words easily create pictures in your mind, and form scenarios and voices and characters of all kinds. Telling a story with Sans had your mind bursting with creativity and nostalgia for when you were a child. 

When Papyrus fell asleep, you watched the shorter skeleton shut the lights off and slowly shut the door, careful not to wake him. 

"It must be nice having a sibling." 

With his smile still intact, you felt that his voice and atmosphere dimmed. "it is. without him, we wouldn't be here now." 

He said it as if it was a distant memory. 

"why don't you stay for a bit? we can watch some tv. you humans have a lot more channels up here than in the underground." 

"Really?" you asked. You seated yourself on the couch, only to have him follow suit. "What channels did you have?" 

"we only had one, and it had a tv star named mettaton. just a big calculator, that's all." he chuckled. 

You couldn't tell if he was serious or not. 

"W-Well," you stuttered, reaching for the remote. "let's just stick with a movie. I'm sure there's a lot playing at this time of night." 

When he replied with a shrug, you settled for The Sound of Music. But with the volume so low, you doubted that Sans could understand a thing.

"hey... thanks." 

"Huh?" you turned to see him, looking at you with some sort of emotion you couldn't quite make out. 

"thanks. for, y'know, being nice to us. we haven't gotten a lot of that from humans, so... heh," he scratched his skull. "thanks for getting along with papyrus. he really likes cooking with you, and listening to your stories... and thanks for the gifts, and sorry for—"

You cut him off by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I get it," you reassure him. "It's the least I can do. And the last thing you should be is apologizing," you let your hand fall from his shoulder and against the cushion of the sofa. "There's gotta be a reason for your lack of trust. I understand wholeheartedly. I just want you two to feel as comfortable here as you can, as my new neighbors and friends. And if that means coming here everyday to read Papyrus a story, or to joke with you, then I will do it. I'm not some fuckery-filled, monster-hating asshole that will treat you terribly. I was raised better than that." 

He seemed to soften after your words, as if he never heard such kindness geared towards him before in his life. 

Then, he laughed. 

"fuckery-filled?"

"Don't make me take back my words." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alriiiight here it is. :D thanks for all the support, guys. means a lot to me. tomorrow is monday, and i'm not sure if i'll be able to get a chapter out because of school. hopefully i will. <3  
> but i promise there will be more sans/reader next chapter!!

    3.    ~~ **Quit my jobs.**~~

    4.    ~~ **Welcome & befriend neighbors.**~~

    6.    ~~ **Buy nice clothes for once.**~~

You were making progress, you thought as you crossed your wishes out. Maybe not a lot, considering you had twelve more to go, but you felt accomplished. Surely you can do it all, right? 

You were filled with determination. 

And so, you sat at your desk, watching the trees shake their heads outside, and the movements were somehow comforting. You began to drown in a sea of memories, only to come up for air again in the harsh reality of life. You couldn't bear to get lost in your thoughts any longer, later to find your way back to the present, finding yourself floating on the outer edge of life. 

You wished that the brooding thought of cancer would leave your mind. 

 _'Will it hurt,_ _'_ you thought, scratching at the dilapidated wood of your desk.  _'when I die? Will Toriel and Frisk cry? How will Papyrus feel? And Sans...'_  

You only knew the skeleton brothers for two weeks now, and yet you were thinking about their lives after your death. You hoped, for their sake, they will continue living in these compact, yet homely flats and continue with their animated lives. You hoped, for their sake, that they will be happy, regardless how long it will take them to cross that path again.

And then you thought of chemotherapy. The thought of it gave you chills and sent a pool of nausea sitting in your stomach. Without the treatment, you had six months remaining. Catching the cancer at its very last stage, it would take copious amounts of radiation, medicines, and intense care to at bring your health back to normal, even if it would be for a little while. 

You didn't want to swallow pills every single day. You didn't want to visit the hospital for frequent check-ups, legs shaking in anticipation for dreadful news. 

You don't know if you could stomach that process. 

Running a hand through your hair, you felt like your head was going to explode. You wished you had someone to talk to, to pour your feelings, to graciously take advice. These were the times that you wished your parents were still alive. Sometimes you forget, and instinctively reach for your phone to text your mom or dad. Instead, as your fingers stroke the surface of your phone, you're struck with a cruel reminder that they're gone. And the only time you could talk to them would be at their grave, only to receive the thick slabs of stone stare right back at you. 

So, you were left with Toriel. 

You couldn't keep it from her forever. You know her. As soon as you show signs of fatigue, or weight loss, or bruises began to jewel around your body, she will know what's up. And you couldn't bear to see her reaction when you tell her last minute, many months down the road. 

 _'The best thing to do is to get this over with,'_ you sighed as you stood up.  _'I have to tell her now or never.'_

* * *

Needless to say, Toriel ran out of tissues in the span of fifteen minutes. 

The goat-like woman sniffled, sputtered, and quivered as she wiped the remains of her tears. You helped her, of course, by drying her wet fur below her eyes. When she opened them, they were red and puffy, and your heart broke at the sight of your mother-figure sobbing. 

"Wh-When did you f-find out?" 

You sat back down in front of her and placed a comforting hand on her knee. 

"A little before Sans and Papyrus moved in." 

Toriel coughed a little, as if trying to rid of the sobs that crawled in the back of her throat. "Cancer... Oh, how could this happen?! To you, out of all people..." She wasn't aware of cancer in the underground, but when reaching the surface and accustoming to human lands, she picked up her research on humans—and that included diseases. 

"Shh, shh," you reached and stroked her arm. It seems like the roles were reversed. "I don't know, Toriel. But... there's not much I can do at this point. And even if I do take treatment, it won't do me any good. E-even if it will help a little, it won't be good for my mental health either." 

"Why couldn't they catch it earlier?" she asked, her voice dripping with anger. "Why did this have to happen?" 

You looked down. "The doctors said something about the white cells kept multiplying, and it all happened too fast. It would have been a miracle if they caught it early." 

She seemed to calm down, but anger and sorrow continued to gloss in her eyes. "(Y/N), dear, I'm... I-I'm so sorry, I—"

"I am, too," you cut her off. "for putting this on you. I... I hate seeing you like this, Toriel. But hey, look at it this way:" you paused, and waited for her reaction. "I get to spend more time with you and Frisk, Sans and Papyrus..." 

She had to smile a little. "Indeed, that is true, but..." she let out a shaky sigh. "it is not enough." 

"Unfortunately." 

She seemed to calm down with time, and you decided to make her some tea. She tried to decline your request, but you had none of it. Today,  _you_ were the mom. 

You never thought you would have to think that before. 

After serving Toriel her tea, she looked at you with some sort of radiance, the polar opposite of how she was just moments ago. Maybe she was trying to lighten the atmosphere, you figured.

"So, what are you going to do now?" 

You smiled a little. "Well," you reached in your purse and pulled out your journal. You flipped through the pages until you landed on your bucket list. "I... made some wishes here I wanted to do before I die. They're... kind of simple, though." 

Gently placing the book in her hands, she skimmed through your list. Her lips drew together in a tight smile. "To... make Frisk and I smile? That was your wish?" 

You couldn't help but blush. "W-well, I mean... I've... been doing a good job with it, haven't I?" 

"(Y/N)," she began, her voice lowering. "You're too sweet for your own good." 

"That's not the first time I've heard that." 

She took a few seconds to read more. "Finding your first love?" 

"Yeah," you laughed sheepishly. "I don't wanna rush into it, though. I... I always thought that you should wait for love to come, not chase after it. But now that my life is on the line... It's just another silly wish of mine. A dream, I guess. I doubt it'll happen, but it can't hurt to put it on there." 

Closing your journal, she handed it back to you. "Then I don't see the point of having that wish if you don't at least try to do it." 

"Eh," you shrugged, smoothing the cover of your journal with your fingertips. "I guess you're right. But..." you groaned softly. "I don't know. I've never had a boyfriend before. Sure, I've been out on a few dates here and there in high school, but it never turned out well." 

She chuckled. "All in due time, child." 

"It would be nice to be loved," you began. "Not in a platonic way, like how you and Frisk love me. But in a romantic way. To know that someone likes you that way, even for a little bit... that... that would be nice..." 

There was a silence, apart from the the soft clattering of her teacup against the table. Maybe Toriel was still stricken with grief to respond.

"Hey, Toriel?" you asked. "Have... you ever loved before?" 

A curt nod. "I have." 

You leaned forward, placing your hands on your cheeks and elbows resting on your knees. "Can you tell me?"

From your curiosity, it seemed that her sorrow had been lifted. Because of that, she laughed. 

"It's quite a long story, child. And not a very happy one, either. Are you sure you would like to hear it?"

"Only if you're willing to share." 

She hummed. "Very well." 

* * *

 _'_ _Who would've thought that Toriel married the_ king _of the Underground?'_ you thought after leaving her apartment, the details of her story still swirling in your mind. She seemed so happy when she recollected her thoughts, when she first met him, when they married, when they had their child. But when she began to speak about the fallen human child, it was evident that it was a very tender subject. 

You didn't want to press her further. 

Instead of going back to your apartment, you knocked on the door of Sans and Papyrus. 

There was a lapse of silence. You were a little worried, considering you haven't seen them in a couple days. 

"Sans? Papyrus? Anyone there?" 

No response. 

Maybe they were out. Maybe they had jobs you didn't know about, or maybe they were making new friends. 

So, you went back inside your apartment. But you still felt a little empty, even after speaking to Toriel. She was the only one to know of your illness, and she hadn't taken it very well, as expected. You could only wonder how Sans and Papyrus would react. You weren't even sure if Frisk understood what cancer was. The thought of the child's reaction of finding out you're dying breaks your heart. 

You sat back down at your desk for the umpteenth time that day, glancing over at your crafting kit that sat and collected dust in the corner. 

A smile began to form on your lips, as if you had the most brilliant idea in the world. 

Which, well, you kinda did. 

You grabbed the paper in different colors—yellow, magenta, blue, pink, red, orange, green—and began folding, cutting, taping, and creating different types of flowers. Daisies, forget-me-nots, sunflowers, tulips, roses, magnolias... Rolling the green paper tightly, you began to make thin stems for the flowers and glued them to the bottom. And oh-so carefully, you grabbed your pen and began writing inside the petals. 

You chewed on your lower lip. 

Maybe it's a little obvious that the flowers could be from you. After all, you were the only human other than Frisk that they knew. 

But that's what excited you. 

* * *

It was late when Sans came home from work, bone tired. Though, he didn't have to worry too much for Papyrus, considering he was staying with Undyne for the night.

He had multiple jobs, just as he did in the Underground. This time, he actually  _sold_ treats, such as ice cream and hot dogs. Not many people would stop by throughout the day, the reason due to disgust. A monster selling treats? Ha! They would scoff when walking by him, daring not to make eye contact with the skeleton. 

Sans, of course, didn't mind. Or at least he tried not to care. 

He yawned and left the elevator, pulling his key out from his pocket, and wanting to desperately lay on his bed and sleep for a day or two. 

But when he looked down, he saw a yellow flower with a long, green stem. What was it doing in front of his door? Wouldn't it easily die? But when he picked it up, he examined it further to conclude the falsity of the flower. He twirled the stem between his phalanges and played with the petals. 

Then, black ink inside of the petals caught his eye. 

 **hey. what do skeletons say before dining?  
** **... _bone appetit!!_**

He laughed. Maybe it was Frisk or Toriel that left it at his door. He made sure that he'll thank them later. But looking towards Toriel's room, he saw that there were two other paper flowers laying on the floor, untouched and begging to be read. 

Ah. 

So it was  _(Y/N)._

Sans let his smile widen. 

Strangely enough, he hoped to receive more. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i think i accidentally posted this chapter that only had, like, three sentences. sorry. this is a poop chapter with poop dialogue and nerds low-key flirting with each other. and it's pretty late here, so i'll re-read this over in the morning and fix mistakes in the afternoon if there is anything. <3

"Hey, Sans?" you asked, knocking on his door lightly. "Are you home?"

"no." There were some slight muffled groans that were possibly once words inside his mind.

You smiled. "Alright, well, I'm coming in." 

Opening the door, you saw the couch occupied with the shorter skeleton laying on his stomach, face smushed against the pillow, and moans of protest leaving his throat. 

"Aw, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed?" you teased. 

He moved his head to the side a little. "i don't find your jokes to be  _humerus_ now." 

Oh, what a lie. His voice was filled with amusement. 

"Yeah, yeah," you sighed, sitting at the edge of the couch. You poked his head. "Where's Papyrus?" 

Once again, he moved his head so you could clearly hear his voice. "still out with undyne." 

"I still haven't met her yet." 

"you will eventually," he sighed. "sorry, kid. just not feelin' up to it today." 

"That's alright," you fixed his jacket that began to fall off his shoulders. "How about I make you something to eat?" 

He made a hum of appreciation. "thanks, (y/n)." 

"Anything to get you to stop  _skullking._ " 

There was a snort. Then his dull, droning laugh. 

When you went to the kitchen, the fridge was largely bare. There was a shriveled corpse of carrots hidden behind a half-empty carton of milk, and a bottle of ketchup tipped over on the sides. Sitting on the top shelf was what you presumed leftover spaghetti, but just by stealing a small glance of it made you gag. 

"Sans," you said after closing the fridge. From the corner of your eye, you saw slight movement, maybe a pitiful attempt to lift his head in order to gaze at you. "when was the last time you went grocery shopping?" 

"uhhh," he murmured. "around the same time we moved in." 

" _Over_ two weeks ago?" you widened your eyes. "What have you been guys eating?" 

"some of papyrus's spaghetti, uhh... some of grillby's grub. i normally eat what i sell at the stands." 

You stare at him for quite awhile, and it seemed to make him a little unnerved. In fact, he began to shift a little. 

"what? why're ya staring at me like that?" 

You grabbed your purse and walked to the couch, beginning to tug on his arm. 

"C'mon, lazy bones. We're going shopping." 

* * *

After many attempts of dragging him away from the couch, whether you'd be tugging him from his arms or legs, you finally sat him up. And since the market was only a couple blocks away, you decided to torture him a little and made him  _walk_. 

"can't we take a bus or somethin'?" he shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone that was in his way. "i'm used to walking, but i just don't wanna do  _anything_ today." 

"You don't wanna do anything almost everyday, Sans." 

"that is true." 

You laughed and pulled at his arm whenever he slowed down. "I get that you're tired, and I am, too," you blatantly stated. "but we gotta get some food in your stomach. Or, uh..." your eyes trailed down to where his stomach would be. "Well... uh, this is awkward." 

It was his turn to laugh. He pulled out his hands to wiggle his phalanges in front of your face, as if he were casting a spell. "it's called magic, kid."

You had no reason to doubt that. 

Smiling, you decided to jump from one subject do another. "Hey, Sans, I realized I don't know too much about you." 

"what's there to know about me?" his grin seemed to spread further. "i can give you a brief summary if that's all you need." 

"Please." 

He cleared his throat. "i'm sans. sans the skeleton—"

"Woah, really?" 

"shut it," he laughed. "uh. i like jokes. ketchup. i don't like doing anything, really. and, uhhh," he scratched his skull. "i'm not one to make promises." 

You raised an eyebrow. "Really?" 

"yep. your turn, toots. knock me out." Sans gestured his hand, as if he was offering something.

"Well, I'm (Y/N). (Y/N) the human," you joked. "I'm almost twenty-one. Recently quit my jobs. I have two whackjobs for neighbors—"

"that hurts, (y/n)," he placed his hand on his chest. "really. you're breaking my heart here." 

You ignored him, but you couldn't hide your grin. "I like flowers. I... well, that's it, I guess." 

After, you heard him chuckle. It was a warm sound, hearty, and you were somehow reminded of the feeling when the sun hits your face. "guess i learned one new thing 'bout you." he said.

You cocked an eyebrow. "One?" 

Sans winked at you. "You quit your jobs." 

* * *

Much to your surprise, the shopping trip wasn't too bad. But when Sans protested when you offered to buy him the groceries, you simply placed a fingers over his lips—ah, well,  _teeth_ —and promptly shushed him before you swiped your debit card. You tried to translate the look splashed across his face, but much like your attempt at smiling and perilously trying to get him to accept your offer, you floundered. 

"you didn't have to do that," Sans commented, taking one of the bags from your hand. "i could've bought them." 

"I know." 

He inspected the content inside the bag incredulously, feeling a tender tug at his soul. "you're not tryna buy my trust still, are ya?"

"Hah," you laughed, thanking the cashier and walking out of the store. "what do you mean  _still?_ " 

"don't lie. come onnnn, you tried to get me to trust you with those gifts. already here for two weeks and ya want me to _bone_ you."

His voice was teasing, but somehow you couldn't help but frown at his choice of words, and not to mention the blush that flourished on your cheeks! "I'm... not like that, Sans. I..." 

You paused, pressed your lips together, and then smiled again. Before you continued, he cut you off. 

"s-sorry," he said abashedly. "i shouldn't have said that, even after you bought all this for us..." 

You shook your head. If there was another thing that Sans learned about you that day, it's that you forgave too easily. 

"Hey, no worries. I'm going  _tibia_ okay." 

You heard him laugh again. This time, it caused you to smile wider. Strangely enough, you looked forward to his laugh. 

"you sure you're not a mind reader? 'cuz you're just reading the library of jokes i have in this thick skull now." he tapped the side of his head with his index finger. 

"If I read minds, then I would probably know  _a lot_ more than puns and jokes." 

"that you will, (y/n)." 

You felt his knuckles brush against yours. 

* * *

Spending the rest of the evening with the skeleton brothers, filled with Papyrus heartily thanking you for your kindness. You sunk in the damaged couch while watching TV after the sunlight began to settle behind the mountains, and slowly guttered like a candle.

But Papyrus soon fell asleep, and Sans had to quickly put him to bed before he could wake up. You smiled at him, lips shut against each other. 

"You're a good brother, Sans." 

"am i?" he asked, pretending he didn't know. You crooned softly under your breath. 

"Mm. Yeah," you lolled your head to the side, feeling the brightness of the TV reflect on your face. "I wish I had a sibling. A sibling to look after, or an older one to look after me. At least to have someone I can call family to this day." 

You didn't see his face. Your eyes were too busy straining against the TV. But you heard his voice, loud and clear, and you could almost paint a picture in your mind of his different expressions. "what about your parents?" 

Another heavyset silence. 

"I lost my mom when I was fifteen; my dad, eighteen. It's kind of like a gap in my life without them. No one else was really there to help me pave a path. I had to do that myself when I was fifteen. My dad went straight for the booze after her death, and it was like I was the new mom." You laughed. There was nothing funny about that, Sans immediately thought, but didn't question your motion. "And then when I was eighteen, he died from liver poisoning. All that alcohol just pooled inside him, and his organs decided, 'Hey, fuck it. We're out.' And my dad didn't wake up for a few days. Then, when he did, he asked for me, only to have him fall asleep again. Except this time he didn't wake up." 

Sans expected to see tears when he looked at you, but instead you were smiling. Bright and clear, wide and pure. He didn't know how you pulled it off, smiling for every little thing. It made him question your existence, why a kind person like you was placed in a beautiful, yet cruel life. And it made him question your reasonings. 

But it was not his place. 

Not yet, at least. 

When he didn't say anything, you took that as an indication to continue. "But hey, I worked. I saved up, and now I can do whatever I want," you laughed dreamily, throwing your head back on the head of the couch. "but it's weird. I don't like doing a lot for myself. I like doing things for other people, hence why I bought you guys the gifts, and the groceries. I care too much about others instead of caring for myself. Maybe it's because I consider you guys my family. You, Papyrus, Toriel, Frisk... I've known Toriel a little longer, but having you guys live a hop, skip, and a jump away... It's the closest I've been with others in a long time." 

There was a feeling inside him. No, not a tingle in his funny bone, and not a tickle in his ribs. Something deeper within the depths of his soul, something that he couldn't quite figure out, even when it was at the tip of his makeshift tongue. But when you looked at him with those eyes; the eyes of a dreamer, the eyes of one in pain, the eyes of adoration... 

Just what was it? 

"aw, man, you're making me blush," he responded shortly after. You saw no signs of it, even in the dark, but his words still made you grin like a fool. "i feel honored, kid. not a lot of people are like you out there, so welcoming to us monsters and humans alike." 

You murmured under your breath, rubbing the corners of your eyes. "I'm glad. You only get one life. It's your duty to live it as fullest as possible, and for me that means being as kind to those who you want in your life, and helping others make their lives as fun as possible." 

Your words hit him hard. You didn't know about the resets he's endured, and he wasn't sure if he wanted you to know. But as your words didn't apply to him much, they couldn't be anymore true. 

"Hey, Sans? I got a question. I swear, this will be the last of my rambles." you waved your hands lazily, your exhaustion evident in your body language. He nodded.

"i don't mind. shoot." 

"What do you do when everything begins to fall apart in your life?"

It took him a moment. Well, more than a moment. Seconds, minutes, he wasn't sure. But he looked at you, and you stared at him in return with some sort of earnestness and intensity that he was positive he wanted to see again. 

"pick up the pieces," he chose his words carefully. "but... slowly. making sure they don't crack again." 

You smiled. "Mm. Good answer." 

"what about you?" 

You chewed on your lower lip. "I'd do the same, except it'll take a freaking  _eternity_ to put it all back together. And even now, I'm not sure where the pieces flew. Some in my apartment, some in my childhood home, maybe even in here. I just can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that the pieces might stay lost forever." 

He wanted to interrogate you a little, to drive more information out of you on why you were asking him these sorts of questions. Not that he didn't mind, but they hit him like a ton of bricks, and whenever he'd try to get back up, you'd only hit him with more. 

"Whoever is out there, whatever god might exist or extraterrestrial being that has control over us," you scoffed, fatigue seemingly taking over your speech and mind. "they must think that my life is a game.  _Our_ lives, monsters and humans. And maybe I'm right. And maybe they're winning slowly, like it's a tedious game of chess. But if they think that they can play it better than I can... they need to rethink their life choices." 

Your dispute weighed heavily inside him, and to be honest, he didn't know how to respond. How could he? Of course, he didn't mind having you over. At this point, he looked forward to your company. But hearing you speak so strongly, yet timidly as if you were about to crack, he didn't know any words of comfort. And he knew that it wasn't a too appropriate time for jokes. 

"(y/n)?" he called out your name, watching you slowly sink your head against the arm of the couch, legs curled and arms tucked against your torso. Your breathing began to even, and he knew that you—after your elated yet melancholy speech—were passed out cold. 

He unzipped his sweater and placed it over your body, watching your features relax and soften under his keen gaze. 

If you coming over meant food, late night talks, and curling up in his couch in peace, then he wouldn't mind looming around you and enjoying your presence.

For as long as possible. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so happy with the amount of love i'm getting for this story. or hate. maybe it's 'cuz it's making y'all tear up.  
> sorry this is a poo chapter. i'm sick with a bad cold and i can barely keep my eyes open, but i wanted to get this out here tonight. i'll fix any mistakes in the morning! love you guys, thanks for your patience. <3 <3

Your face was right there in front of him, in his memory, and it was quite beautiful; astonishing, in fact. And he felt like an eager watcher, anticipating each time you fluttered your eyes, each movement of your hand, and each flick of a finger. He felt that if he would blink, he would miss out every little detail and quirk you would do—a yawn, a scratch in your eye, a gentle smile. 

When you fell asleep on the couch, everything fell silent. It was like coming to a marbled room of a museum after the moon has set. Darkness, rays of silver from outside illuminating the room, and casting a glow onto your limp figure. 

He watched. 

He listened. 

He felt a little creepy, to be honest. Observing you as you slept, wondering if your dreams were happier than your memories. He loved how the moon highlighted the smoothness of your skin, and how your lips curved and pouted as you writhed in your slumber. But he felt his attraction slide away, fold over and down, tucked away deep in his soul. Maybe he shouldn't be thinking about you like that. Ah, but what harm would it do to appreciate the charm of someone in front of him? 

You murmured in your sleep, something about wishes, and slowly stirred to face away from him. He sighed and stood up from the couch, leaving his sweater rest atop of you. 

And then he thought for a moment. 

He hasn't heard a filling silence like this in awhile. The types of quietness he was used to were empty, hollow, vacant. 

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

Sans liked this kind of silence, he concluded. 

The nourishing silence you brought with you. 

* * *

You didn't expect waking up on a couch, with Sans's jacket on your body, and the clangor of pots from Papyrus's attempt in cooking. 

And you also didn't expect a fish-like monster hovering over you. 

"Well, look who decided to wake up!" 

You didn't move. You subconsciously pulled the sweater tighter, nose pressing against it and briefly inhaling the scent of... ketchup? Go figure. 

Instead, your eyes observed the monster further. "Oh... hi." 

She grinned a toothy grin. "What? Never seen anyone like me before?!" 

Her voice was a little intimidating, and it made you flinch just a tad. "U-uh, n-no, I mean—yes...?" 

Your stutters seemed to soften her features. Then, she laughed. "I'm just messing with ya! The name's Undyne." She extended her hand for you to take it. Shaking it, you sat up a little and nodded.

"I'm (Y/N). I've heard a lot about you from Papyrus and Sans. It's nice to finally meet you!" 

"Likewise." 

"UNDYNE! DID YOU WAKE THE HUMAN?" you heard Papyrus call from the kitchen. 

"I dunno, bonehead, why don't you take a look?" 

His head peeked over the counter. "AH, GOOD MORNING, (Y/N)! I HAVE COOKED A VERY SPECIAL BREAKFAST FOR YOU!"

You folded his sweater and placed it next to you. "Aw, thank you, Pap. You didn't have to, though." 

"NONSENSE. YOU STAYED UP LATE TO KEEP MY BROTHER COMPANY! IT'S A PLEASURE TO COOK FOR SOMEONE WHO IS WILLING TO DO THAT!" 

"Woah, staying up late with Sans?" she emitted a low chuckle. "Must be head over heels for him already, human." 

You widened your eyes and sputtered indignantly. "N-No, no, it's not like that! I swear, it's..." 

Undyne seemed amused when you merged into your sea of stutters. "SANS AND (Y/N) TOGETHER?" Papyrus piped in, eyes narrowing in thought. "I DO ENJOY THE IDEA. YOU'RE A GOOD HUMAN, (Y/N), A GOOD MATCH FOR MY BROTHER, SANS. MAYBE YOU CAN GET HIM TO ACTUALLY DO THINGS AROUND THE HOUSE!" 

"No, noooooo," you murmured, burying your face in your hands. "It's not like that. Geez, I just woke up..." 

A generous laugh flew freely from Undyne's mouth as she slapped your back. "We're pulling your legs here. Any human friends with everyone here is a friend of mine!" she declared triumphantly. "So, let's make this a start of a good friendship!" 

"Thank you," you gratefully nodded. Furrowing your eyebrows, you continued. "Speaking of Sans... where is he?"

"HE'S WORKING TODAY." Papyrus quickly responded. "HE WON'T BE BACK UNTIL LATER. BUT FEAR NO MORE, HUMAN—FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL KEEP YOU COMPANY!" 

You grinned at his gesture. Your friend was too pure. "Thank you, Papyrus." 

"Well, I'd love to join and play around with you punks," Undyne teased. "but I gotta head back. Alphys is waiting me. Hey, how 'bout I bring her along next time so you can meet her? You'll  _love_ my girlfriend, and I'm sure she'll like you, too." 

"I hope I can meet her soon!" you affirmed the fish-woman, saying your farewells, and glanced an Papyrus earnestly. "So, what do you want to do today?" 

"ACTUALLY, HUMAN..." he trailed off, scratching at the back of his skull. "I NEED YOUR HELP." 

* * *

"So, you want a job...?"

He nodded frantically. "I DON'T WANT SANS TO FEEL LIKE HE'S ALONE WHEN IT COMES TO WORK. AS HIS MUCH COOLER, AND ONLY BROTHER, I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO WORK AND PAY FOR RENT AND FOOD." 

You felt your heart swell in your chest. "Aw, Papyrus, that's so sweet of you! Sans is lucky to have a brother like you." 

An orange hue stained his cheeks as he chuckled nervously. "A-AH, WELL, I... I DO WHAT I CAN, NYEHEHEH!"

"Well, let's start with some basic information," you shifted your weight on the couch, and made room for him to sit next to you. "What are some of your past experiences?"

"I WAS TRAINED TO BE IN THE ROYAL GUARD BY UNDYNE!" he declared proudly. 

"That's good!" you said, clearly remembering the stories that Toriel told of the Underground. "Anything else?" 

A pause. 

"UM, DOES CAPTURING HUMANS COUNT?" 

"I think that goes under the profession of the whole royal guard thing..."

"RIGHT, RIGHT." 

"So, other than that, you have no experience?" 

He shook his head. "NONE AT ALL." 

You chewed your lip in thought, recalling back when you were only fifteen when you first got your job. Retail was a good starter, but Papyrus was too kind-hearted to work at a place where people can easily snap at you. Retail wasn't always a friendly environment. 

"Well, you do know how to cook..." you mumbled. "You're optimistic, you're organized, you have great communication skills..." 

"DO YOU THINK I WILL BE ELIGIBLE FOR A JOB, (Y/N)?" 

You had to smile at him. "Of course! It's just that there are some places that prefer more... experienced workers. I'm just trying to think if there's a place around here that can hire experience-free employees... And monsters. They have to be monster-friendly, too, it's a  _must._ "

Papyrus was mimicking your position: hunched over, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes narrowing in the distance. It seemed that he, too, was trying to think, but more-so copying you in order to make it look like he  _knew_ where to apply. 

Suddenly, you perked up. 

"What about a coffee shop?" 

His eyes seemed to sparkle at the thought. "THAT'S A GREAT IDEA, HUMAN!" Then, the gleam in his eyes suddenly dulled. "BUT... WHERE IS THIS COFFEE SHOP YOU SPEAK OF? AND WHAT DO THEY DO?" 

You chuckled. "There's a Moonbucks a couple blocks down from here. And since this is a monster-friendly neighborhood for the most part, they  _should_ have some positions open for all kinds. You just have to learn how to make coffee, maybe bake some pastries... You have to be diligent of orders, and friendly to people!" after you explanation, you stood up and stretched your muscles. "Give me fifteen minutes to get ready, and then we can check it out together! If you don't think it's a right fit for you, then we can always try somewhere else." 

His expression was priceless. Really, it made you feel like an older, protective sibling. He leapt and engulfed you in his bony arms, squeezing the life out of you. 

"THANK YOU, HUMAN! OH, YOU'RE THE BEST—JUST WAIT UNTIL SANS HEARS ABOUT THIS!" 

You felt lifted and happy for your skeleton friend. And some kind of protectiveness washes over you at the sight of his elatedness. 

And then you remembered your bucket list. 

    9.   ~~ **Help someone in need.**~~

* * *

You waited outside Moonbucks, chewing on your nails and pacing back and forth as they interviewed Papyrus. Would they like him? Would they offer him a job? You hoped, for his sake, that they welcomed everyone of all kind, and would treat the kind skeleton fairly. 

When he left the shop, you gasped, pulled your nails out from between your lips, and nearly  _sprinted_ towards him. "How did it go? Did they like you? Were they mean? I can have a talk with them if you want, I—"

Papyrus held up a uniform hat and apron. 

You squealed. 

* * *

In celebration, Papyrus cooked some of his famous spaghetti (in which, to your distaste, was getting quite old. But you were in no position to complain. After all, he  _did_ just get his first real job.) When Sans came through the door, it took him by surprise to see you still there, sitting by the counter and kicking your feet back and forth. 

"AH, BROTHER, WELCOME HOME!" Papyrus called out. 

"thanks, bro," he responded, but kept his eyes on you. He chuckled. "couldn't wait 'till i get home, huh?" 

"Don't flatter yourself, Sans," you blushed. "Besides, I'm sure you don't even have the  _heart_ to do the same." 

He laughed, feigning emotional pain. "you really do know how to hit me hard. how can you be so  _spineless?_ " 

Laughing among yourselves, you glance at Papyrus, who was slaving over the stove with pots and pans. "Hey, Papyrus, don't you have something to say to Sans?" 

"huh? say what?" 

"UH," Papyrus lowered the heat of the stove, turning around and shifting his weight on his heels. "I... I GOT A JOB." 

A stunning reticence took over Sans. 

"w-wait, really?" Sans asked with an airy laugh, as if he wanted to make sure he didn't hear wrong. "you got a job? where?"

"AT MOONBUCKS. (Y/N) HELPED ME GET IT. IT'S SAFE, AND THE PEOPLE ARE NICE!" 

The shorter skeleton's expression lifted. "that's great, bro! oh man," he laughed. "i'm proud of you—i really am! you'll learn a lot of new things, all good, i hope!" 

For the rest of the time Papyrus cooked, you could almost see him glowing from happiness at his brother's approval. He hummed under his breath, chuckled, and leapt over from one end to the other as he cooked. Sans, however, sat next to you, and sort of glared at you as if you were a dream. 

"you helped him find a job, right?"

You nodded. "I had to make sure that the place was a monster-friendly environment. The salary is good, and it's something that Papyrus can easily manage. I also had to make sure that it was still within this neighborhood, and the customers that go in are—"

He cut you off with a hand placed on your forearm. You saw an expression on him that you couldn't fathom. 

"thank you. he's really happy. actually, he hasn't been this happy since... well, i'm not really sure. but i can tell this job will mean a lot to him, and it all goes down to you. so... thank you." 

"Hey," you whispered. "I'll do anything for my friends."

You averted his gaze before you could blush. 

His hand remained on your arm. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for your comments. <3  
> warning: this chapter contains even sadder content that will probably make you cry a little.  
> i know i cried a bit.

You had five months, twelve days, two hours, and thirty-six minutes until your death. 

But you didn't know that exact amount.

You thought that keeping an exact countdown to your death is something that was, by all means, unnecessary and depressing. But this past month had been like an ocean tide, giving and taking. You were tired, going to early and waking up late. You had a loss of appetite, the sight of food leaving an uncomfortable churn in your stomach. Veins were more noticeable, bruises formed out of nothing, but the strangest symptom of all...?

You were happy.

 _How in the world,_ one may inquire, _can you stay happy like that?_

Let's reword that. You were happy, but not necessarily all of the time. You had your moments where you were in bed, exhausted of being exhausted, and tears would stain your pillow at the thought of leaving your beloved friends. You drained all your sorrows on that bed, piling your fears and agitations only to shove them under your bed, never to be seen again. 

Then, you would sit up. Wipe your eyes. Powder your face to cover the evidence of tears. 

And your lips would curl into a smile. 

That same night, you sat next to Sans on his sofa. Laughing, talking, eating, joking—all the things friends always do. 

And then came your gentle words that made Sans  _think._

You placed your glass of water at the coffee table in front of you and sighed, resting your chin on your knees. "Hey... Sans." 

" _hay's_ what horses eat, (y/n)." 

"Shut up." you laughed, swatting his arm playfully. 

"what? ya think my puns are un _stable_ , right?" he chuckled. "this stuff is what night _mares_ are made out of." 

"Stop!" you laughed, tossing a pillow at him. "You're gonna make me lose my train of thought!" 

"then hopefully it won't be  _furlong_ then." 

"Stooooop. Oh my god, that's so lame." you groaned, trying so hard to be annoyed. But you couldn't, not with that silly grin intact, not with that light blue hue stained on his cheekbones, and not with that bashful chuckle. His laughs dwindled, and he held his hands up in defeat. 

"okay, okay, i'm done. what's up, kid?" 

You sighed. "I'd feel bad if I just go on out and say it after we laughed a lot..." 

"nonsense," he shook his head. "i'd stop whatever i'm doing just to hear ya talk. haven't i done it before?"

"Mm," you murmured, smiling at all the previous nights you and Sans spoke, many which resulted you falling asleep on his couch, and waking up with his sweater on top of you. It was almost like a tradition now. and then you realized how close you've gotten to him, up to a point where you looked forward seeing him as days go by. To a point where you feel yourself falling for him, wanting to drag him down with you. "yeah, you have." 

"so, go on," he looked at you, eyes carrying the same curiosity as it always had when you'd talk. "what's your brilliant little mind thinkin' of now?" 

You gazed away from him, staring off into the distance as you mentally fumbled with words. "We... we never know what's going to happen, right?" 

"well, yeah," he shrugged. "didn't know i was gonna meet ya. didn't know you would go outta your way to get papyrus a job. didn't know that you'd be sitting next to me on this couch right here, right now." 

"And I didn't know I'd be best friends with a skeleton," you laughed. "but life is always throwing us this way and that, isn't it?" 

"guess so... where are ya heading with this?" 

"I..." you sighed. "It's just... I used to feel like life tossed us where adventure is. Not knowing where you'll end up, or how you'll do... It's a mystery. Except, I don't like mysteries. And because of that... that  _revolt_ I have for mysteries, I now know where life is pushing me at." 

Sans focused his eyes on you with a strange mixture of interest and concern. "where, kid?" 

You tried to chuckle. Except, it came out sounding like a sob. A whimper. "Sans, when I was little, my mom told me stories of Life and Death. You know how human lore always depicts Death with a scythe, a bony figure, and a cloak and all?" You felt him nod. "Life and Death are in love. Life is an artist, hopping from a project to another, finishing and unfinishing masterpieces. Most of the time, Life leaves half-finished works behind. But Death... Death being so in-love with Life, he collects Life's work—finished and unfinished—and keeps them forever." 

You heard him hum; a low, slightly raspy sound that sent delightful shivers down your spine. "that's a cool way to put it like that, especially for you when you were little," you heard his voice slightly waver, but you were unable to nitpick the emotion riddled in his voice. "i normally don't ask questions. you know that, but... why are you saying this? is... something going on that i should know 'bout?" 

Tears began to flow freely from your face. Then, you shook your head. "N-No. I'm fine, it's okay, really. Nothing at all." 

"oh, (y/n), hey," he murmured. "c'mon, look at me. hey," he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it in circles, hoping to alleviate whatever was bugging you. "obviously there's something wrong. otherwise, you wouldn't be crying your eyes out like this." You swallowed dryly, wanting to bite back your cries, careful not to wake Papyrus up. "you can tell me. that's why i'm here, right?" 

You wiped your eyes, and placed your head on his shoulder. With this gesture, Sans wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. 

"S-Sans," you whimpered. "I'm dying. I'm dying, Sans. I'm sick, my body is getting weaker," you sputtered it all out. You couldn't bare to look at whatever expression he made, for it would only make you break even more. "No amount of m-medicine or treatment can help. I don't... I don't have the time. I'm a  _gift_ for  _Death._ " 

You looked up, eyes puffed and red and brimming with agony. The expression you saw in Sans was blank, as if he felt so much that he couldn't feel anymore. You cursed yourself for telling him so quickly, you cursed yourself for developing a crush on him in a short amount of your time.  _'But wasn't that one of your wishes, (Y/N)?'_ a voice taunted in your head.  _'To fall in love? To love and be loved? Why do you regret it now?'_

Because now you've caused him pain. 

"(y/n)..." he said, causing you to flinch and look away. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hands. 

"(y/n)." he said again, in a much firmer voice. This made you slowly raise your head again. 

He was quiet. Guilty, maybe, that your lifespan is shortening in an agonizingly slow pace. 

"I'm sorry, Sans," you whispered. "I should've kept my mouth shut. Maybe I should've stayed out of your way, or—"

He shifted so he took your face in his hands, phalanges stroking your soft skin, and he took the brief moment to relish in the feeling. 

"don't say that again," he said, almost  _demanded_ , in a voice that you've never heard before. And for a split second, you could almost see a tint of blue in his left eye. "and don't say you're sorry for meeting me. don't say you're sorry because you're  _sick._ you got that?" you nodded in his hands, swallowing sobs that piled in your throat. His gaze softened, and then he began to stroke your skin. He let one of his hands drop, and you wondered if he was trying to hold back tears. 

"how long?" he asked. 

You blinked. Then shuddered. "I found out last month. And now, I have about five months, give or take. I... guess I still have some time." 

 _'But not enough.'_  

You wanted to say how sorry you were again, for placing your secret and sadness onto him, and leave it on his shoulder like a sack of bricks. And you were sorry, for both of you, that you had a silly, pent-up crush on him. But no words were able to leave your lips, and instead only sniffles and trembling sighs. 

"I wish I had the choice to invent my own endings," you whispered, feeling his other hand drop from your face and wrap around your shoulders. You took that as another invitation to rest your head on his own shoulder. "Maybe I'd be able to do more things. Maybe it'll give me time to love and live my life with someone I love, and not scramble last minute feelings. It'll... it'll shoot them down if I love now. When I die, they'll be alone. And sad. Angry. I... I don't want that to happen." 

The way you were speaking, with such ardor and passion, it gave him a hunch that you were talking about  _him._

And he didn't mind one bit. 

Of course, he did have sparks of feelings for you here and there. Your smile, for instance, was one of the reasons he liked being around you. Your happiness was a virus. It's one of those bugs that sits for a long time, and he doesn't even know that he's infected. Your laughter? Just multiply happiness by ten. 

He found you inspiring, actually, how you strived to make others happy. And when they would smile, you would, too, and it left Sans thinking that if the rest of the world was filled with people like  _you,_ then monsters would have never been trapped. 

And it was then Sans realized that he would not mind falling in love with you, despite his already-growing infatuation. The thought excited him. 

And he would not mind losing you, knowing that you were loved and cared for. 

"let's dry those pretty little eyes of yours up, huh?" he took the sleeve of his sweater and rubbed it on your face. "wouldn't wanna go to bed and wake up with all those gross eye crusts. we'll talk about this more tomorrow, okay? when you're not a mess, i mean." 

You giggled a little. "Thanks, Sans."

"and get some sleep. you must be tired now after all that crying." 

"Yeah." 

You moved so you laid your head on the arm of the sofa, legs extending to ease on his lap. Putting his hands on your feet, he laughed. "must be a habit falling asleep on the couch now, huh?" 

"It's comfy." 

"even when it's all broken?" 

You murmured. "It's comfy because it's your couch." 

"now you're just saying things, kid." 

"I can always crash on your bed. What a sight it must be for Papyrus..."

He was glad you didn't see his blush. "just sleep already, or i'll put you to your grave five months early." 

As a poor joke it was, especially in a moment of crisis, you had to laugh. "Shut it, bonehead." 

Soon enough, he heard your breathing even, your shoulders relaxing, and he saw the pleasant rise and fall of your chest. 

That night, however, he didn't fall asleep. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like the george r.r. martin in the fanfiction world. y'know, the author of a song of ice and fire? (game of thrones).  
> he makes every reader/watcher cry in despair.  
> i love it. (but i also feel bad for you guys, it's okay <3 <3) sorry this is kinda short and a filler, but ay, there's some progress!

Silver stars glittered in the blue-black sky above you as you peered sadly out your window. But the leaden sky seemed to hold its breath, with the feeble sunlight slithering itself between crevices of trees and mountains. With your window cracked open, you could smell the hints of winter air. And although December has barely begun, you could sense the signs of a first snowfall. Your skin felt chilled with the sudden gust of wind, and when the rest of the sun snuffed out, the moon rose and gleamed through the hollows. 

With each turn of a page, you felt your life slip between your fingers slowly. Every glance at your fifteen wishes made Death's grip tighten around your heart. And every thought of Sans... Well, you didn't want to get to that point just yet. 

You blew away a strand of hair that fell in front of your eyes, smoothing the surface of your journal with your fingertips.

You had eleven wishes left. 

And you had five more months to live under the glimmering stars.

You never thought it would be this difficult going through your wishes, one by one, day after day. It's a given fact that you'll face difficulties in your life, as you were taught at a very young age. But along with difficulties, you knew you would also face positive moments. The problem was that you struggled recognizing the differences. You didn't want to burden the few positives in your life with the negatives, otherwise you would ruin them. 

But that's how your life rolled, from negatives to positives. It was bitter, but you tried your damnedest to sweeten it. In the past, you couldn't quite find the right ingredients and components to make your life a treat. 

Thinking about your friends, you smiled a humorless smile. You loved them dearly, in such a short amount of time, and your bones and mind ached, wishing you had more time to spend with them. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, they were the missing ingredients to your life. 

And maybe when you die, you can die with the taste of sweetness in your mouth. 

* * *

"did you know about this?" 

Toriel placed the teapot down on the counter and nodded numbly. "Yes. I was the first one she told." 

The goat-like woman sat down on the chair, untying her apron and tossing it lackadaisically on the table. Primly, she folded her hands and placed them just above her abdomen. 

"nobody else knows, right?" Sans reluctantly asked, as if he was afraid of her answer. She shook her head. 

"No. Not even Frisk knows, and I presume Papyrus doesn't either. Am I correct?" 

A dull nod from him. "yeah." 

"Are you sure you don't want a cup of tea?" she asked, briefly drifting away from the subject. It, too, stung her to speak of such matters. "No? Nothing to eat either?" No response. "All right." 

He heard her sip her tea nonchalantly. 

"what's she gonna do?" Sans finally pondered. "there's nothing the doctors can do, right? then, there's no use..."

"Now, the doctors  _can_ do something," Toriel interrupted. "it's just that (Y/N) chooses not to take the medicine. They caught her illness late, and treating her quickly and abundantly... ah, it won't do her much good." 

Sans muttered in response. 

Toriel continue to prod him.

"Have you seen her wishlist?" she had to smile a little. "Her bucketlist, she calls it. Things that she wants to do before she dies. It's not much, but... it's..." She swallowed. She forced herself not to tear up at the thought of her dear friend passing away. "it's enough to keep her happy."

"just enough?" 

"That's why you came here, isn't it?" she chuckled. "You want to know how to make her last moments happy. She's welcomed you and Papyrus so easily, and she cares for you. You won't be able to find anybody else like that, you know. And now you want to do something for her in return..." 

Sans chuckled. "you can read me as easily as she does." 

"Ah, what can I say?" she smiled. "All I have to do is turn the page." 

Another laugh. 

"so, what can i do, tori? anything specific?" 

"I think that's something that you need to ask her, not me," she shrugged. "But I'll give you a hint..." 

Sans almost leaned forward, eager for her helpful tip. 

"Look through her list. It's a red journal that she either carries with her, or it's somewhere in her room." 

"...that's it?"

"That's it."

"nothing else?"

"Well, there _is_ something else..." 

Sans narrowed his eyes. "c'mon, tori, don't play with me here." 

Laughter rang through her voice.

"Maybe you can help her with number two on her list." 

* * *

He found two paper flowers taped to his apartment door. 

One of them was another yellow flower with black ink scribbled in the petals. 

 **hey.  
** **thanks for talking with me last night. i hope it wasn't much trouble.  
** **you're a great friend, sans. the best i've had since... well, forever.  
** **also;  
** **come shopping with me around noon. i need some help.**

No name had to be written for him to know who it was from. He then took the other one, a red flower that somewhat resembled a rose. 

 **this one is for papyrus, the most precious monster on the planet.**  
**keep cooking, okay? and keep being you.**  
**because you're unique. be who you want to be,**  
**not what everybody else wants you to be.**

He held the two flowers to his chest, and opened the door to his room. 

"hey, pap, there's a message here for ya."

* * *

There was a knock on your door as you buttoned up your coat. Wrapping the straps of your purse around your shoulder, you opened it to find Sans standing at the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, and his signature (permanent, really,) grin on his face. 

"what's up, kid?" 

"Good. You got my message," you smiled, walking out and shutting your door. "I gotta pick up a small package, but I need help carrying other things, too. Sorry to ask last minute." 

"not a problem," he shrugged. "what are you picking up?" 

"You'll see when you get there," you smiled. "Also, we're walking." 

He didn't complain, but instead he gave you a look of worry. "are you sure?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm dying, yeah, but I'm not  _weak_ yet. I just wanna take this time to get more fresh air. I might not get a lot of chances later on." 

He didn't respond, but instead followed you down the stairs. 

You felt the crisp winter air, dead leaves ripping off the tips of branches and fluttering down your feet, crunching under the soles of boots. You walked side-by-side with Sans, elbows and shoulders brushing against each other. You lost feeling of your nose and fingers, and you sighed deeply. Sans laughed. 

"regret not taking the bus now?" 

"Oh, shut up," you nudged him. "but I have my reasons. The bus driver won't allow me to bring the package on the bus." 

"didn't you say it was a small package?" 

"Well, yeah, but," you grabbed his arm and took pulled him towards the store. "a little package can come with a lot of baggage." 

Sans paused. 

And inhaled. 

"you're getting a  _dog?_ " 

* * *

You held the golden puppy in your arms as he rested his head against your forearm. Wrapping a couple blankets around the animal, you kissed its head and cooed against its fur. "Oh, you're just so  _adorable!_ "

"aw, why can't i hold him, (y/n)?" 

"Because you have to carry the bags of food, and the bowls, and the beddings, and the blankets, and the toys." 

He whined, and you knew he was doing it to annoy you. "can't i hold him for a little bit?" 

"Do you not remember when you tried to hold one of the dogs in there? One of them almost bit your finger off!" you exclaimed. 

"ah, but it  _didn't._ pain just goes _right through me._ " 

"That... that was a pun, wasn't it?" you sighed, desperate to hide your smile. But it crept up on you, and Sans felt successful. "You can hold him when we get home, okay?" 

"i better. also," he glanced at the sleepy puppy in your arms, and then to you. "have you thought of a name?" 

"Hmm... I was thinking of something along the lines of  _Sherlock Bones._ What do you think?" 

Sans snorted. "pretty good, kid. i wouldn't have the  _guts_ to name him that from the start." 

"Oh, that's a dirty lie. You have the  _tendon_ -cy to throw names like that here and there." 

"alright, alright, i could go on like this forever," he chuckled. "but i gotta know. are you  _really_ naming him sherlock bones?" 

You shrugged. "I don't see the problem. It's cute, isn't it?"

"yeah, i s'pose. but i have another question." 

"Shoot." 

"what will you do with him?" 

"The normal things, you sicko;" you giggled. "play with him, pet him, walk him, feed him—"

"i know  _that,_ " he interrupted. "but... i meant after, you, uh..."

"After I die?" 

He was so happy you finished the sentence for him. 

"I'll give him to Frisk. They like animals, right? I'm sure Frisk will love Sherlock. I just want Frisk to see him now and play with him for a little while so he'll get used to being around them. Then, maybe both Frisk and Sherlock here won't be so lonely." 

That was typical, he thought. 

You thought of everyone else, in the present and in the future. 

"By the way, did Papyrus like the message?" 

"huh? oh," he cleared his throat. Well, it was more of a learned habit than an actual necessity. "yeah, he did. he was pretty excited, he doesn't know that it was from you. he actually taped it on his wall, too." 

"Aw, really?" you laughed. "That's adorable." 

"yeah. he said that he wants more, so he can read them every day on his wall and be motivated." 

"Guess I got some work to do when I get home." 

He watched you as you stroked the puppy's fur, your eyes misting from the cold. Or, perhaps they were emotions that he couldn't quite extinguish. Even so, when you weren't looking, he took it as a chance to take in your features and permanently tattoo it in his memory. And when you were speaking, he took it as a chance to remember the honey of your voice, how you pronounced and punctuated your words, and the ranges your laughter went. 

When you looked at him, Sans looked back in your eyes, absorbing the color and the spark it had in them. 

He concluded that when you leave this world, he wanted to remember your everything. Your words, your voice, your eyes, your laughter and smile. 

Because you, too, would be his first. 

8\.   ~~ **Get a puppy.**~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little late. i've been debating whether i should start an underfell fic or not, but my brain is kinda drained on that neck of the woods. so, i'll just keep writing this until it's finished. thanks for your patience! this is another filler chapter with deep talk and flirting and PROGRESS, but this is still the rising action. hold onto your seatbelts, guys~

You felt particularly tired one evening. You could barely move a muscle while Sherlock rested his feeble little head on your lap. You knew that if you stood up too fast, you would grow dizzy and fall. So, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, and called your friend. 

"Hey, Sans." 

_"yo, what's up? everything alright?"_

"Yeah," you smiled, wondering if he could feel your grin through the speakers. "I'm just wondering if you'd like to come over instead. I'm not exactly feeling up to walking much." 

You heard him chuckle. The sound sent imperceptible feelings coursing through you.  _"seems like i'm rubbing off of ya. i'm on my way."_

The line clicked. 

And then there were knocks. 

"knock knock." 

You laughed a little. "Who's there?" 

"al."

"Al who?"

" _al_ give you a kiss if you open this door." 

Oh, you were so glad that the door was closed. You laughed, hiding the nervous, flustered waver of your voice. "You open it, boneboy. It's too faaaar..." 

You see him walk in, signature grin and all, and he shut the door behind him. "boneboy? that's new." 

"Would you rather  _vertebro?_ " you snorted. That earned a laugh for him. 

"that's also new. been lookin' up some jokes to win my heart over?"

You stuck your lower lip out, faking a pout. "Aw, I thought I already did that!" 

He sat down next to you, reclining and propping his feet up on the coffee table. "maybe you did, sweetheart." 

 _Sweetheart?_ Seems that both of you were full of surprises tonight. You averted your gaze briefly, running your fingers through Sherlock's golden fur. 

"so, what's going on in that mind of yours tonight?" 

Glancing at him for a little, your eyes drifted to the window, noticing how clear the night look, not a cloud high in the sky. "You've never seen stars before when you lived in the Underground, right?" 

Sans shook his head. "nope. we had this place called waterfall, though, with crystals on the walls and ceilings that resembled stars. it's pretty nice there, if i do say so myself." 

"Mm, that sounds beautiful." 

"it is. hey," he nudged you a little. "how 'bout we visit sometime? think of it as a little vacation." 

A vacation, you thought, running your mind over your bucket list. You smiled. 

"That sounds great! When can we go?"

"whenever you want, doll." 

 _Doll?_ Who's trying to win over who again? You chewed on your lower lip, brushing off the pet names he tossed around like tennisball. "U-Um... we can go sometime this weekend. You're... free on Saturday?" 

He grinned. "i did say whenever you want, right?"

"That you did." 

You hummed softly, a soft melody as you continued to run your fingers through Sherlock's fur. The puppy on your lap snored, his eyes shut lightly and his tongue sticking out between his lips. 

"Hey, Sans. Have you ever had alcohol before?" 

"i heard of it," he responded. "heard of the effects from the internet and you, specifically. but never had it. why?" 

You nodded. "Just wondering. I remember one summer when I was nine years old, I was at our summer home near the beach with my parents. We sat by the porch, and my parents were drinking champagne. I would never forget that night, how the stars looked and how the moon looked so big that I could almost touch it..." you closed your eyes at the fond memory. "Some people decided that they would set fireworks off in the middle of the night on the beach, and even though it was  _illegal_ , they didn't care. Everyone had a good time..." you sighed, taking a breather, somehow feeling drained from all the talking. 

"My dad handed me a glass of champagne as we sat and watched the fireworks. I was shocked, actually. I took it, and kept looking back at him for his approval, making sure he wasn't pulling my legs. But I saw him smile, laugh, and lifted his own glass for a cheer. And when I drank it, I was bitten by the fizzy, yet sickly sweet taste of it. And... I wanted to spit it out. All over, on the floor or on his pajamas." 

You laughed, cheeks flushed and smile wide. Sans, too, laughed along, but you weren't sure if he found it as funny as you did. Maybe he was laughing because he listened, or he enjoyed your smile, or perhaps he was truly listening. 

"I was able to swallow it, though. It stung, like the bubbles ate away at my tongue, and it prickled my stomach. It felt like warm pins and needles, or... fireworks." 

You rubbed your hand over one of your eyes, smile still intact, and you looked at him. He looked at you back, probably with great interest, or maybe sheer infatuation with your stories. 

"I hate champagne. I don't ever want to drink it again," you shook your head. "but not because it's alcohol. It's because it will never have that same taste again that it did on that night in July." 

Your laughter died down, and Sans rested his head against a cushion. He probably didn't even realize how his head lolled to the side, and he probably didn't notice the admirable gaze he had only for you. 

"(y/n), you have a way with stories. didja know that?" 

"Huh?"

"yeah. you're like some sort of magician with words. you always know how to put them together, like a puzzle. you know what to say at the right times, what not to say... that's some amazing stuff." 

You shook your head, grinning. "Well, there's a reason why I'm like that  _now,_ and it's because I have a cancerous, rusty knife on my throat. And slowly, so slowly, it's digging deeper into my skin, infecting me and making me weak. Before I know it, I'll be dead before I hit the ground."

He flinched. "that's a... er, neat way to put it." 

"Would you like me to rephrase that?" Eagerly, he nodded. "I wasn't like this before. I mean, you remember how I was when you met me. I was... quiet. Reserved. I didn't know how to put my words together, how to confront people, make new friends. But when I met you, I already knew I was going to die. So, I decided, 'You know what? Fuck it. I'll friendship the hell out of them.' And looks like I've done a pretty good job, huh?

"A lot of the times, I wished I was like my mom. She was bold, she tried new things, she never hesitated to stand her ground. Don't get me wrong, she had her moments where she was vulgar and her language was downright crude, but that was my mom. And I loved her. And I wanted to  _be_ her. Instead, I was more like my dad; silent, patient, and pretty anti-social. You should've seen me in high school. God, that was a terrible time..." you chuckled. "And then I realized, after their deaths, that I can't be like my parents. But at the same time, I can be both, you know? I can be quiet and loud, patient and bold, anti-social and open. And it confused me at first, wondering how in the world I can be both at the same time. And then I had this  _miraculous_ realization that I'm literally just an upgraded version of my parents, and I can combine my qualities to become  _me._ Do you see what I mean?" 

Sans waved his hand, wanting you to continue. "yeah, i'm catching on." 

You smiled at him. "Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I kept everything to myself. I kept my feelings, my thoughts, my ideas... I had this notion that I couldn't put my burdens on anyone else. Instead, I carried theirs. And it's okay, because I still do. It's a fun job," you shrugged. "but after I found out I was gonna die... I realized that I was wasting my words, locking them up in a treasure chest and letting them collect dust. So, when you and Papyrus moved in, and all of us clicked, I unlocked that chest and let my words fall freely like jewels and gems. I let my qualities flow, from my boldness to my patience, from my language to my quietness. And honestly..." your voice fell thin, a whisper, fluttering like a sheet of paper. "I like myself better this way, and I wish I was like this from the start. It's funny how once you realize you're in Death's clutches, you look back and regret the many things you didn't do. And it's sad that you have to live with that fact for all the time you have left." 

Sans liked it when you talked to him. He liked it when you would create pictures easily in his mind, and how they were so close that he could feel the movements and hear the voices. But sometimes, your words tugged on his soul, leaving a foul, bitter taste of sadness in his mouth. But that also meant how truthful they were. And sometimes, the truth of your words kept him up, your voice wrapping around his head and adjusting themselves, claiming his mind as their permanent home. 

It's a reason why he liked being around you. No, not because you weren't afraid of him. It wasn't because he thought you were attractive. 

But it was because how your wisdom swallowed him whole, how he fell into a world that made him think and think and think until his bones would ache, and his eyes would sting. 

"I'm sorry," you frowned a little. "Please tell me I didn't bore you." 

"no, no!" he waved his head, wanting to rid of that thought from your head. "you couldn't bore me, kid. after all, your stories and thoughts are pretty...  _rewording._ " 

"Oh,  _Sans,_ " you laughed. "That was lame. So lame. 0/10. Try harder." 

"ah, but you laughed," he winked. "c'mon, doll. at least give me some credit. you know those awards you get for participating? that deserves, like, four points." 

"Two." 

"nope, four." 

"I'm settling for two points." 

"three points and a kiss. final offer." 

Your eyes widened at the thought, and you waited for him to give a breathy laugh and say that he's only kidding, and that you should've seen the look on your face. But none of that came, and you saw the palest tint of blue creep on his cheeks.  

"you're just gonna sit there gawking at me? that's fine. here, how 'bout this;" he moved his head so he was sitting more upright. "i'll borrow your kiss, and i'll be sure to give it right back later." 

You buried your face in your hands, red with heat, and you murmured in embarrassment. Sans laughed, leaning forward to pull your hands away from your face. 

"hey, you don't have to. i'm only teasing ya. well, sorta," he winked. You noticed how close he was to you, and how his hands felt cold against your warm ones. "if you feel uncom—"

You leaned forward, eyes slowly closing as you pressed your lips against his teeth. It was gentle, soft, but wasn't a simple peck. Underneath you, Sherlock writhed from the sudden closeness of two bodies, but you pulled away soon enough, flustered and nervous, and you chewed on your lip. 

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to go right into it. And, well, you don't have lips and all, and I-I didn't know where else to..." 

You trailed off in a path of stutters, and Sans laughed at your reaction. He squeezed your hands in his, and stroked the back of your palms, reveling how smooth your skin felt. And somewhere deep down, he wondered about the other parts of your body, and how smooth and plump they'll feel under his hands. 

"don't worry 'bout it," he murmured once you ceased your stammering. It was his turn to blush. "it was perfect, kid. i wouldn't mind doin' it again... was this your first kiss?" 

You nodded. 

"guess it was worth  _dying_ for, huh?" 

You snorted at his distasteful joke. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god it's 2am and i have school tomorrow. fuck my life.  
> so i'm gonna shamelessly advertise my tumblr here: http://smallybells.tumblr.com/  
> feel free to follow to talk to me, watch for updates, submit anything (cough), or ask any questions. i'd really love that. <3  
> warning: this chapter contains so much fluff that you'll probably weep

Frisk skimmed their fingers across the paper surface and rounded their lips in wonder. The child looked up at you with an inquisitive gaze, and you smiled. 

"You want to make a flower?" 

Their hair became ruffled with their intent nod. You laughed. 

"Okay. Sit here," you pulled the chair of your desk and Frisk sat on it, their head barely reaching above the desk. With their small arms, they tried to reach across your desk for paper, but to no avail. You smiled, lifting Frisk and sitting down instead, placing them on your lap. "Now, why don't we start with something easy? Let's say... a lily, or a rose. I think a lily would be a nice start. Roses can be a little complicated with all the different petals, wouldn't they?" 

Frisk chewed on their thumb in response. Reaching for a pink piece of paper, you began to slowly walk them through the process of folding, cutting, taping, gluing, and sharpening the edges of paper. They fumbled with some steps, unable to achieve perfection with their small, nimble fingers, but they managed to pull through as time went by. And when you watched Frisk stick their tongue out in focus, their dark eyes locking in concentration, you felt joy soar inside you, thoroughly enjoying the moment you had with the child. While Toriel was out for errands, and the brothers were working, you were left to look out for Frisk for the remainder of the day. You were eager, really, to spend some time with the child you grew to love as a sibling. You loved to shower them with gifts, or play with their knotted hair, or telling them a story as they fall asleep with their head on your lap. 

But you look back at your attachment to Frisk, and their attachment to you, and you wonder how they would be after your death. Your eyes grew misty, thinking about the child's reaction to your death, and instinctively you pressed your lips on the top of Frisk's head. 

Curiously, they looked up at you, eyebrows knitted together, and you shook your head. 

"I'm okay. Hey, you're doing a good job!" you twisted the subject, hoping that they wouldn't question your gentle kiss. You reached for a pen, and handed it to the child. "Now, why don't you write a message inside?" 

Nodding, they took the pen and looked at their masterpiece, pressing the cap of the pen against their lips. Then, they looked back up to you. 

"You can write anything you want. Like the one I gave you, remember? Did you like that?" 

They nodded. 

"Write anything that comes to mind, sweetheart." 

Frisk gently took the flower and began to scribble inside the petals, trying to make their handwriting as neat and readable as possible. It took them a few minutes, but finally they handed you the paper lily. Smiling, you took it from their hands, and looked inside the petals. 

**your like an older sister to me and i love you**

**i want you and uncle sans to date so we can be a family**

**but mom says that you are dying and i dont want you to go**

**you make us laugh and smile and i like your storys and papyrus likes you a lot too**

**so please dont leave**

You managed to make out the misspelled words and the slightly messy handwriting, and by the end of it you had tears spilling down your cheeks. You placed the flower down on the desk and looked at Frisk, who offered a gentle smile towards you, and you wrapped your arms around them tightly. You swallowed dryly, and you felt their arms wrap around your neck.

"I'm sorry, Frisk," you whispered in their hair. "I'm sorry I have to leave. But sometimes... things like this happen. I can't help it." 

You pulled away from them and pushed brown strays of hair out from their eyes. "I don't want you to think that I'm leaving you guys behind, Frisk," you said, lips pressed thin against each other in an attempt of a grin. "I'll be here. In these flowers, in these messages, in your memories."

Frisk held back their tears. You soothed them by running your fingers through their hair. 

"I want you to remember these words for me. Can you do that?" when they nodded, you smiled through your blurred, teary vision.

"Don't be afraid to live, Frisk. And don't be afraid to die, because death isn't the scariest thing out there. Death isn't something to fear, no matter how close you are to it. But the denial of it is far more frightening, and I don't want you to be scared of it. You have far more precious things to worry about than death. And as for life...?" you let your hand dropped from their head. "Life teaches you many things. But the only lesson you need to learn from it is how to live. And just like when you're in school, you need to pay attention. And you need to listen very, very closely. But you can't be  _ready_ to listen. You have to be  _willing._ Can do you do that for me, Frisk?" 

Another nod, and a suggestion of a whimper left their throat.

That was the last time you and Frisk spent time together.

* * *

"So, do I need anything?" you asked Sans over the phone. "I can pack us some snacks. How's the temperature over there? Do I need to bring blankets, sweaters? I can make some hot chocolate and bring it—"

 _"(y/n), sweetheart,"_  he laughed through the line. There he went with the pet names again! You felt your voice grow lumpy, weak from his endearing words.  _"don't worry about me, worry about yourself. you know that the cold goes right through me."_

You groaned audibly, making sure that Sans heard your pitiful attempt of being annoyed. You heard that before, many times, but when you heard him laugh again, you had to smile. "Won't we be there for a while, though? Won't you get hungry?" 

_"it's a mini-vacation. like, a two-hour getaway. think of it as a date. a... vaca-date."_

"But—"

_"don't worry about food. don't worry about blankets. if you get cold... well, that's why you have me. now, let's get going, or do i have to keep waiting outside your door?"_

"Wait, what? You're..." 

The line went dead. 

And two familiar knocks rang through the wooden door. 

* * *

The journey to Mt. Ebott was shorter than you expected. You insisted on taking a bus ride to Mt. Ebott, not exactly wanting to tire yourself. Sans agreed immediately, and throughout the bus ride you squeezed his hand, bounced your foot, and let your excitement get the best of you. A date—well, a  _vaca-date,_ as he put it—with Sans. And to a seemingly beautiful place that was loved by monsters! Why wouldn't you be excited? 

You thought Sans didn't notice your change in attitude, how you held his hand and how you shifted and looked outside the window in anticipation. 

He thought it was adorable. He wanted to see your excited expression more often. And in a span of a few seconds, his mind flashed and wondered what other expressions you could make...

No, no,  _no._ Mind out of the gutter. Wash your hands, Sans. No, instead, why don't you put bars of soap in your eye sockets? Clean that filth, dirty bastard. 

Upon the arrival of Mt. Ebott, you climbed off the bus and stood by the entrance. Sans looked at you, and his hand reached for your arm. 

"hey, i wanna try something real quick. do ya trust me?" 

"What kind of question is that?" 

He snorted. "good point." 

He lifted you up, and a squeal of protest left your mouth as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Nose pressed against the feathers of his jacket, you took in his scent. 

Ketchup and grease. 

What else did you expect? 

You felt a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, the feeling where you ride one of those spinning rides in amusement parks. Your head felt heavy, and it took you a moment to adjust your sight to your surroundings. Groaning, you shut your eyes at the blurriness. 

"sorry," he murmured. "i should've warned ya." 

"What... did you do?" 

"teleported. it was too far of a walk, so i decided to take a... shortcut." 

You opened your eyes and inhaled, taking in the glittering stones above you, flickering and reflecting. You didn't notice when Sans put you down, your arms still around the shorter skeleton, but you couldn't take your eyes off Waterfall. Without the stones, you would be succumbed in darkness, darkness so black that even the pale-lit light of the glowing flower would be choked. You heard the water splash, trickle and flow, as if it was right beneath your feet. 

"Sans, this..." you breathed. "this is so beautiful..." 

"it is, isn't it?" he said. "here, let's lay down someplace." 

You nodded, adjusting your arms so they were wrapped around his, and let him lead the way. Your eyes were too busy admiring the view; no wonder why monsters thought of this place the closest thing to stars. Here, it was almost strikingly similar, except the stones were much larger. You wouldn't mind coming here often. Admiring one of Mt. Ebott's striking qualities with someone you deeply care about? Yeah. You could live with that. 

You heard him unzip his jacket and lay it on the ground. "here. use this as a pillow." 

"You sure?" you asked as he sat down with a groan, worried if he would be uncomfortable. 

"your comfort is my comfort. now," he patted his jacket. "lay down, doll." 

You were lucky it was dark, making your blush nearly invisible. You laid down next to him, head against the plush warmth of his jacket, and you stared at the ceiling for what it seemed like a century. 

"you're pretty quiet," he chuckled. "i take it you like it here? you look like you're  _glowing._ " 

Smiling, you looked at him, who was sitting and staring down at you, as if you were some sort of goddess in his midst. 

"I can stay here all day," you whispered. "It's so soothing, so... calming. I can stay here and forget about all my troubles..." 

He hummed. "this place can do that for a lot of people."

Another silence. Quiet, but full of sounds.

"Hey, Sans," you reached out and tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. "lay down next to me." 

From the angle you were in, you noticed how much bigger he was than you. Not in height, but in weight. His bones were large, stocky almost, and almost fulfilling. Staring at him made your cheeks heat up, but this time he noticed. 

Except he didn't have a witty remark. 

He shifted his body so he was next to you, his breaths soft and his bones cold, but it was him. And he was close, oh so close, and at this point you simply  _forgot_ how to be embarrassed. He turned on his side, resting his elbow on the ground and hand on cheek, and he looked at you, grinning. 

"hey." 

You laughed. "Hey." 

"you like it here?" he asked again.

"Like it?" you shook your head. "I love it here. And especially since it's so quiet..." 

He mumbled in response, and leaned in to nuzzle his face against yours, teeth on your cheekbone, and you raised an eyebrow. 

"skeleton kiss," he said. "not as effective as human kisses, though." 

You chuckled, taking his face in your hands, and pecked him on his mouth. "It's cute."

He continued to watch you as you admired the "stars" above, your mouth agape and eyes wider than saucers. In the midst of it, his free hand somehow found its way to yours, and like before, he stroked your soft skin, and crooned under his breath. A deep, guttural sound as he explored the skin of your hand to a degree. You didn't seem to notice his groan, and he was glad you didn't. It was then he realized that he needed to rid of these crawling, lewd thoughts, and  _soon._  

"Sans?" 

"hmm?" 

You turned your head to face him. 

"When I die, I want you to be sad." 

If it was possible, he would have frowned. 

"But I don't want it as in, like, a revenge way. I'm not some sort of sadist, taking pleasure in other people's misery," you snorted, shaking your head. "But... I want you to be sad. I want you guys to cry. I want to be remembered. And... it may come off as narcissistic or selfish, but it's the truth. Sorry if I popped your bubble or anything..." you tried to laugh, to smile in hopes to lighten the atmosphere. "Yet... I don't want you to always be sad, especially if it's the memories you're remembering. How else would you remember me without breaking down? I want you to have happy memories, I want you to laugh. I want to see the smile in your eyes, I want to hear your laughter. 

"We all have little circles in our lives, hundreds and thousands of little spots within us. Spots of _people._ They could be people we know, people we love, people we hate, or people we’ve only seen once in our entire lives. And one day, one of those people might leave a hole when they pass. People you thought that would stay there for the rest of your life only to step out of line and disappear forever. Depending on who that person is, the size of the hole will vary. They could leave a big gash, or a small dot that you could barely fit your finger in."

Your eyes were closed, and you felt him stroke your face. "How big of a hole will I leave, Sans?" 

He didn't respond, but kept running his phalanges over you skin. But you felt him shrug. "Is... it okay if I leave a big hole?" 

"y-yeah," he said. "you can. leave whatever you want, sweetheart." 

You opened your eyes and found him staring at you, and you reached up to take his hand in yours. "It seems like I'll be leaving gashes in everyone's life..." 

"probably." 

Then, you looked down. "You can always patch it up. Sew it. Pretend it's a quilt that needs refurbishing." 

"no," he shook his head. "don't think i can do that, kid, 'cuz no matter what i do... that quilt won't be the same from when i first had it." 

You smiled. No, you  _beamed_ at him, teeth showing and eyes squinting. "Good answer." 

Wrapping your arms around him again, you pulled him in. 

And the flowers around you carried your conversation, repeating them like a mantra. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to have a plot.  
> but it didn't.  
> also, i received AWESOME fanart from superat626!! take a look!! ;w;  
> http://smallybells.tumblr.com/post/138554023708/from-chapter-11-of-paper-flowers-o-archive-of  
> WARNING: this chapter contains sexual themes. but it's not a smut. not yet, at least. <3

There was a knife bathed in blood, a small hand gripping around the handle, and a blank expression that he could never read. Panting, sweating, and that haunting red color of their soul shattering. He fought, dodged, missed, and killed, and killed, and killed, and _killed_ —

But it was only a dream. 

He didn't know how long he sat in his bed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? When he closed his eyes, he was met with darkness, and the dead, and the things that they did with him were indescribable. He wrapped his arms around his sides and hunched over, taking deep, shuddering breaths, hoping that his scream hadn't woken Papyrus up. He felt the trickle of sweat bead down the sides of his skull, and quickly he wiped it off, as if some unseen force was watching him, mocking him, laughing at him for being so  _afraid._

Sans reached for his phone, scrolling through the little amount of contacts he has, and clicked on your name. At the corner of his phone, he saw that it was past midnight, and wondered if you were asleep. He hesitated, but with the bright flashing memory of dripping blood, he called you. 

And it rang. 

And it rang. 

And it rang. 

Until you picked up, and he could hear you fumbling with your phone, until you finally pressed it against your ear and let out a drawled,  _"Hello? Sans?"_

He sighed with relief. "h-hey." 

 _"Hey,"_ you said.  _"Are you okay?  What happened?"_

"nothing..." His hands trembled. He could feel his own ribs shake, sweat dampening his forehead. "j-just... i... i-i needed to..." 

 _"Sans,"_ he heard you say, voice low and soothing. He took great comfort in it.  _"You're stuttering, and something happened."_

He didn't respond. But he shook his head, in hopes of you having some sort of power to see, and breathed heavily. 

_"Come over. I unlocked the door."_

This time, he didn't hesitate. He hung up and left his room, shutting the doors quietly, careful not to wake Papyrus up. 

When he went to your room, there was no knocking against the door. 

And no jokes. 

"Sans," you greeted him at the door, tightening your cardigan around your body. There was no doubt that you were sleeping, with bags under your eyes and your tousled hair, but he found you utterly beautiful, and sometimes he found it difficult to put it into words. "do you want any tea? Coffee?" 

"nah," he shook his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "just... company." 

"I can give you that." 

You snickered and held out your hand, offering him to take it. When he did, you squeezed it tightly and turned towards your room. His eyes darted towards the couch where you would normally sit, and he saw Sherlock taking your place, stomach wide and visible and tongue sticking out. He wondered why you brushed past the couch. But when he watched you climb under the sheets and made room for him, he flushed. 

"h-hey," he stammered. "isn't it too soon to go to the  _bonezone?_ " 

You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance. "Don't flatter yourself. Now, get in." 

Warily, he laid next to you and wrapped some of the covers over his body. You turned to him, smiling, and relished how close you were to him. Just a couple inches and your mouth would be against his teeth. You raised a hand to stroke his cheek, then trailed to the top and around his skull, fingernails brushing the sturdy bone. His eyes shut, a low groan of comfort and pleasure leaving him, and you felt the vibrations against your skin. You felt your face heat up, and you moved yourself closer to him, pressing your lips on his forehead. 

"Now," you whispered, hand still smoothing and scratching at the back of his head. "tell me what this is all about."

He opened his eyes, white irises looking deep into yours, and then he closed them again. 

"It was a nightmare, wasn't it?" 

You heard him laugh softly. "was it obvious?" 

Humming, you moved your hand down from his skull and to the back of his neck, and you heard his breath hitch at your strokes. "An absence of words speak louder than a thousand truths." 

"where'd ya get that from?" he raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

Trailing your hand up the back of his neck, you felt him shiver, but not protesting against your touch. For now, you're taking that as a good thing. 

"From experience." 

Your fingers fell and played with the fabric of his sweater, picking at the stray threads or lightly rubbing over old stains. You heard him sigh, maybe feeling empty without your touch. You expected a complaint, or a teasing whine, but you didn't. You could see the dullness in his eyes, how dark they looked and how they must be reflecting on his memories. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" 

Immediately, almost as if it was planned, he shook his head. "nah. not... not yet. my bones are just a little  _rattled_ right now." 

Snorting at his joke, you wrapped your arms around him and rested your forehead on his. He seemed to sigh at this, his eyes closing again and his breathing less quivery. He felt your heartbeat quicken, the pumping sending vibrations against his ribs, and he moved his hand to rub circles on the small of your back. 

"I was always told," you started, voice falling just above a whisper. "that just because the doors have closed, doesn't mean that the nightmares will let themselves in. Because they will find a way, crawling through the cracks or through the vents. But a nightmare is something that you will wake up from, and I want you to know that everything is fine. Because we are here. I am here. And I know that the thoughts and terrors of the nightmare will remain in your conscience. That's considerably worse," offering him a smile, you trailed your lips down his forehead, to where his nose is supposed to be, and then to his teeth. He relaxed under your touch, under the plumpness of your lips, and when you pressed closer to him, he had to hold back a groan that bubbled inside him. "but they are fragmented fears and memories you carry. And like shattered glass, you pick up the pieces carefully, making sure you don't step on it." 

You noticed how he eased under the heaviness of your words, he uttered a low moan. You came to the realization that you enjoy the throaty noises he makes, and your face suddenly felt hot at the sound. "you're amazing, y'know that?"

"That's not the first time I've heard that." 

You took his face in your hands and leaned in for another kiss, and this time he held onto you tighter, hands trailing up and down your sides. Your hands moved inside his jacket and felt his clavicle, earning a sharp intake of breath from Sans. You smile against the kiss and pulled away. 

"You seem very... sensitive," you whispered, your eyes glossing over his own, and then you grinned. "Does it feel good?" 

"it does," he whispered, his voice low and nearly... feral? You gulped, eyes widening at the abrupt change of voice. He chuckled and slowly moved so he was on top of you. "here. lemme try somethin'. do ya trust me?" 

Feebly, you nodded, and he leaned down so his mouth was by your ear. "close your eyes for me, doll." 

Obeying, you chewed on your lower lip and closed your eyes. You felt his phalanges cup your cheek, feeling the texture of your skin under his hands, and his thumb trailed over to your lips. You stopped chewing on it, allowing him access. He toyed with your lip, wondering how something so simple, so pink, can be so alluring at once. Then, his hand moved to your neck, and lightly he wrapped his hand around. You flinched at the contact, and immediately he retracted his hand. 

"s-sorry, did that hurt?"

Opening your eyes, you smiled at him. "Just surprised me. You can keep going." 

Gingerly, he placed his hand back on your neck, his thumb smoothing over your jaw, and you closed your eyes at the feeling. It wasn't a tight grip, you were grateful, but you also found it enticing how he explored your skin with every gentle touch he could muster. He was fascinated with the human body, and he wanted a chance to examine it with his own touch, with his own eyes. You weren't opposed to the idea. 

You missed the coolness of his fingers as they trailed down to your collarbone, and suddenly he stopped. Opening your eyes, you stared at him, and in the dark you could make out the glowing blush that was painted on his cheeks. 

"What's wrong?" 

He chuckled, albeit anxiously. "your... chest." 

"Oh." 

You reached for his wrist, and led his hand under your shirt. He found the smooth, round surface of your mounds, and you gasped at the rawness of his phalanges. He began to sweat, his breathing labored, and he gave one of your breasts a gentle squeeze. You gasped, squirming under him, and almost at an excruciatingly slow pace, he rubbed his finger in circles over your nipple. Closing your eyes, you let out a low, raspy moan, and then he froze again. 

"was... was that good?" he asked. "that was a good noise, right?" 

You laughed, and by now you were positive you looked like a mess under him. You've never experienced a touch other than your own, and having Sans on top of you, toying with you, exploring your body, you were significantly embarrassed. 

"It was," you whispered. "Now, keep going." 

It wasn't a request. 

He continued moving his hand, grasping and caressing, poking and pinching, until you felt a tightening around your abdomen. You wanted to be touched, you wanted to be touched so  _badly_. You wondered how his fingers would feel inside you, if they would reach farther inside, and you wondered how he, too, would react. But you let him venture around your body, and every single moan that escaped your parted lips, you heard a hum of approval from him. 

"heh. does that feel good?" he whispered against your ear again, pinching one of your nipples, sending shocks throughout your body. "you're moving a lot. such a nice reaction..." 

You felt his breath hot on your ear and neck, and subconsciously you raised your hips. He emitted a throaty chuckle. 

"and desperate, too. i wonder... how else can i make you squirm...?" you opened your eyes to see that familiar blue glow, only instead of his eyes, it escaped through his teeth. Focusing, you realized that it was a  _tongue,_ bright and real. He pressed his tongue against your jawline, trailing up to your earlobe and down to the hollows of your neck. You whimper, arms wrapping around him as he tightened his hold around your breasts. You were rendered speechless, goosebumps surging on your skin as he licked and breathed on your neck. 

"S-Sans..." you stuttered. He pulled away from your neck, and without warning he moved his hands from your breasts and under your chin. Opening your mouth, he dipped his head and kissed you, feeling your warm tongue against his frigid, makeshift one. He yearned for your taste, your breathy moans, your subtle, yet captivating reactions that tempted him further. He groaned, a muffled sound against your mouth, and wanted to pull your shirt over your head and trail his tongue from your mouth and between the split of your mounds. 

He pulled away eventually, both of you left panting with burning faces. He saw you frown, squirming under him, desiring for a different kind of touch. But Sans laughed softly, leaning in and nuzzling against your neck. 

"not yet, sweetheart," he whispered. "but i'll make sure to help you with your little... issue soon enough." 

Your breathing subsided, and you kissed his forehead. 

"Oh,  _come on_ , Sans. How can you leave me hanging here?" 

He snorted, letting your dirty pun sink in his brain. He moved off so he was next to you again, and then the glow behind his teeth disappeared. 

"didja like my new trick?" he teased, entwining his hand with yours. 

"Oh, I did," you responded. "and I can only imagine what other things you can do with that tongue of yours..." 

He winked. "you're just gonna have to wait 'n see, doll." 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys! i've written and rewritten this chapter so many times in hopes for new ideas.  
> but now i have one. <3 <3  
> ...so, uh, i'm sorry for what may come, too.  
> follow me @ smallybells.tumblr.com

You woke up to the sound of the heart monitor, and the smell of disinfectants. And you felt hot, so hot, that you felt like your skin was melting off into a puddle and smearing on the floor. You could feel the tickling drips of sweat down your cheeks and chin, and it was painful to breathe, so painful that you wanted to stop. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you couldn't find the proper words, voice stuck in your throat, and you felt the dryness of your lips crack and sting. Your mouth felt dry, like all its contents and saliva have been drained wholly. Wriggling your nose, you felt tubes in your nostrils, releasing oxygen inside you. And you wanted to cry, you wanted to cry because you truly, wholeheartedly felt like you were _dying_. You were so thirsty, so warm, and you felt a pain that burned through your insides slowly, much like how one would dig a rusty knife through a stomach. 

"Thank goodness you're awake!" exclaimed a voice. You turned your head, feeling your sweaty temple press against the pillow, and glare at the nurse who fiddled with your IV. "How are you feeling, dear? The doctor should be arriving any second. How about I'll bring you a cup of crushed ice?" 

Not able to speak, you nodded and swallowed, and winced at the drought in your throat. The nurse reached and smoothed some of the hair strung against your forehead. 

"Your friends have been waiting for days now," she said with a smile. "and they're an... odd bunch. But a good odd. They must really care for you." 

Days? You could only nod again, but when you tried to speak again you felt the same sting on your lips from the dryness, and the same feeling of your voice caught and tighten. There was a knock, and when the door opened you were greeted by a short, elderly doctor, the same doctor who gave you the grievous news. He smiled at you warmly, but there was a look in his eyes, a look of sadness or regret. A look of acceptance. 

"It's good to see you awake, Miss (Y/N)," he began, pulling up a chair and sitting next to your bed. You didn't respond, but only looked at him in return. "You gave your friends quite a scare out there. It was good that they reacted quickly, otherwise we wouldn't have treated you as quickly and as efficiently." 

Sans flashed in your mind. The last thing you remember was falling asleep next to him, his arms around you, and his face nuzzling against your neck. Now, you're in a hospital, with needles inside your arms, and an imperceptible pain that you could barely describe, even to yourself. 

"Wh..." you tried to speak, voice hoarse and soft. "What... happened...?" 

"You had a fever of 103 degrees," the doctor looked down at his clipboard and flipped the pages. "and you had symptoms of fatigue, weight loss, recurrent nosebleeds in your sleep, night sweats... You have the full package, it seems."

That was meant to be a joke. 

"I'd like to look over your blood tests, if you don't mind," he stood up. "and I'll have some nurses come in later and evaluate you and your level of pain. In the meantime, why don't we send your friends in? They've been waiting for almost three days now." 

Three days?  _Three days?_ You weren't sure how to react to that. You were still confused of how it all happened, but you gathered strength to nod again in obedience, and the doctor left the room without looking back. 

They poured through the door one by one, starting with Frisk, who held a bouquet of poorly made paper flowers. The initial sight made you grin, despite the pain. Next was Toriel, who folded her hands neatly in front of her, and a grim facade. Next was Undyne, and a shorter reptile-looking monster next to her, both with worried expressions. You assumed that the shorter monster was Alphys, who everyone spoke of so highly. Papyrus was next, but there was no spark or enthusiasm in his eyes that you would normally see, only concern, and sorrow. 

And Sans came in, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweater, and he looked tired. Tired of waiting, tired of staying up, probably, and you felt tears swelling in your eyes. 

But you took the paper flowers from Frisk and thanked them, promising to look at them later when visiting hours are over. 

"You... m-must be... Alphys?" you whispered at the bespectacled monster. She nodded, and pushed her lenses up with her claws. 

"Y-Yes," she nodded. "I've heard m-much about you, (Y/N). I-It's good that we finally met, but not in this way..." 

You wanted to laugh, but instead you coughed, pain stinging in your chest, and sighed, your head sinking against your pillow. "Don't... worry about it... It's good that we f-finally met..." 

"If I knew you would end up going to your grave early, I would've brought her earlier." Undyne muttered, and you realized that she, too, now knows about the scant amount of time you have left.

And you can smell it. You can smell it in the entire room. 

The bitter remorse. 

But you shook your head, and reached out and took Undyne's hand. Or was is Alphys's? You couldn't tell. But either way, you didn't care, for your senses were the least of your problems. 

"You're okay, dear," Toriel spoke up, reaching over to move your hair out of the way, much like how the nurse did. "You're okay. You gave us a shock, that's all." 

"HUMAN," you heard Papyrus. "I'M SORRY YOU ARE UNWELL. IT... IT BREAKS MY SOUL TO SEE YOU LIKE THIS," Undyne and Alphys moved out of the way, giving Papyrus some room to squeeze in with the crowd. "AND I'M SORRY I DIDN'T BRING SPAGHETTI! THE LADY THAT SMELLS WEIRD IN THE FRONT SAID THAT I AM NOT ALLOWED TO BRING FOOD." 

This time, you did laugh without fail, and took Papyrus's hand. You gave it a squeeze, and your smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you... Papyrus. I appreciate the th-thought..." 

"LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL RUSH TO YOUR SIDE BEFORE YOU CAN MOVE AN INCH!" he declared, and squeezing his hand again, you nodded. 

"Who... who am I to deny that offer?" 

You glanced over to Sans, who was at the corner of the room away from the crowd, and you chewed on the insides of your cheek. 

"C-Can I talk to Sans for a little?" you asked, voice lightening and wispy. "It won't be long." 

"Take as much time as you need with your boyfriend, nerd," Undyne playfully punched your shoulder. Normally it wouldn't hurt, but you flinched at the contact. "We'll be right outside." 

"Please call us if you need anything," Toriel commented, before opening the door. You glimpsed at the gaunt smile on her lips. "We'll be right out here." 

When the door closed, you adjusted the bouquet of paper flowers Frisk poured their heart into, and settled them onto your lap. You saw Sans, who looked at you, the spark in his eyes gone, and his usual smile somewhat forced. 

You extended your hand. 

"Come here." 

It took him seconds, moments, until he walked over and took your hand, sitting at the edge of your bed. You pulled his hand and kissed the back of his palm. You could tell he was holding back. But holding back on what? was the question you needed an answer to. 

"Tell me..." you croaked. "Tell me what happened." 

He shuddered, and closed his eyes. "i woke up first the morning after, and i looked at you and you were panting. sweating. you looked like you were in pain, and bruises were over your neck and arms. at first i thought the bruises were my fault, but they were too... spontaneous, i guess. i tried to wake you up, and you did for a little, but you started crying," he felt like he was speaking so fast, so achingly fast, and he closed and opened his eyes again, not wanting to remember it. Not wanting to relive it. "you said that it hurt, that it hurt everywhere, and that you felt like you were gonna die. i carried you and screamed for papyrus and toriel to help me, and... and we took you here." 

"The... doctor said those were side effects..." you frowned. "and that they will happen a lot." 

He gave another shuddering sigh, and he leaned forward so his forehead would be resting on your hand. 

"please, (y/n)," his voice broke. "please. please don't let that happen again. i can't... i can't see you like this, never again. i'm  _begging_ you—" you felt wetness on your hand, and you felt like you were going to cry, knowing that those were his own tears falling freely. "don't scare me like this..."

You swallowed, and felt tears roll down your face like wax. "Sans," you whispered, running your free hand over his skull, and to his shoulders. You heard him sniffle, a sob cracking through his voice, and his hand tightening around yours. "Oh, Sans..." 

It took him a great effort to stop his tears, and he lifted his head to meet your own tear-filled eyes. 

"Sans," you started. His frightened expression was scribbled like a mess on his face. "remember when you said... you don't like making promises?" 

You didn't get a response. Not a 'yes.' Not a suggestion of a nod. "I'm the opposite. I like making promises. I like the fulfilling sensation of keeping my word, to carry them out. I like letting my promises swim and stir around in a cauldron inside my heart. But... but sometimes, I can't make promises. I can't make promises, knowing that I won't keep them. And... and," you chewed your lip, ignoring the pain. "And sometimes, Sans, people just want to hear the right things to make themselves feel better. When someone is dying, they would want to hear the right words... right? A dying person wants to hear the right things, like... like their children are fine, or their death meant something... They want to go in peace. It's the same as people who want others to promise them things. They want to feel better, they want to have that security blanket wrapped around them, even if it's for a short while..." 

A patch of silence hovered over the both of you. 

"I can't make promises now. Not about my illness, at least," you slid your hands from under his hold and held his face in your hands. "but I can't deny the fact that I  _will_ try. Will you let me try, Sans?" 

This time, he nodded. 

And you pulled him down to kiss the bridge where his nose is supposed to be. 

"I love you." 

The three words, the three powerful words hit him hard, shook him like an earthquake, and he was left waiting for the next round. He reached up and took your hands that cradled his face. 

"y-yeah," he finally spoke. "i love you too, (y/n)." 

A couple knocks on the door tore you two apart. The doctor walked in, and sheepishly smiled. 

"I apologize if I'm interrupting, but may I please speak with (Y/N) for a moment?"

* * *

"The cancer has spread nearly everywhere in your bloodstream, but from the tests we've taken before when you were asleep, and the x-rays... we've... we've found some other issues." 

He flipped through his papers, one by one, and you gulped, watching the fog-ridden texture of his eyes skim through the words. 

"There has been fluid building up in your lungs, a cause by your leukemia; an overproduction of fluid and drainage in your body due to your low immune system. This must have happened recently, I presume? You didn't have any troubles breathing before you were admitted here?" 

You shook your head. "No, sir." 

"With fluid in your lungs, it will become increasingly difficult to breathe. That's why I had the nurses give you the nasal cannula, but as time goes on, we might have to place more tubes to regulate your breathing." 

"Yes, sir." you nodded, and gripped the sheets. How much worse could you get? 

"We will be keeping you here for another week to regulate your body temperature and symptoms. And my advice, Miss (Y/N)?" he paused, lifting his eyes from the clipboard. He leaned against the chair, and folded his hands. "I want you to have the chemotherapy treatment. If you continue like this any longer, the rate of your death will come sooner than you think. But with the chemotherapy... Mind you, it will be tedious. Recommended, albeit slow and harrowing. With the chemo and radiation, your lifespan can be extended by a short two or three months. But... with your late stage, there can be risks, and there are chances your body will reject the treatment." 

You looked down on your lap, at the paper flowers that Frisk made, and you stared at it for so long that your vision blurred. 

"I want you to give it some thought," he sighed, standing up. "but for now, you need to rest as much as you can. Your friends can come back in if they—"

"Doctor," you cut him off. You lifted your eyes to meet his. "when can I start?" 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are absolute sweethearts, and i love you all. <3  
> aaaaand i'm gonna shamelessly advertise my underfell fic called You Built Me Dreams Instead: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5946847/chapters/13671913  
> follow me @ smallybells.tumblr.com <3

There was a strange taste in your mouth of pine needles, and disgustingly enough, _vomit_. Holding the bucket at your lap, you looked outside of the hospital window and saw the mounds of ice and snow blanketing the strip of land. The leaden sky above seemed to hold its breath, and snow fell like dust in forms of spades and circles. You wiped your mouth with a napkin and cringed, placing the bucket at the foot of the hospital bed, and you sighed. 

It's been four days since the therapy began, and you've been doing nothing but going back and forth to the bathroom, and heaving over a bucket, emptying out nothing but clear fluids. You weren't able to stomach anything properly, and you couldn't remember how many times you fell asleep after episodes of vomiting, only to wake up to crouch over and throw up even more. And you couldn't even begin how infuriating the cannula tubes were in your nose!

You looked outside again, and somehow you had a heightened sense of the cold. You wrapped the thin blanket around your body tighter, hoping it would do some justice, and sighed, blowing a strand of hair away from your eyes. 

The afternoon descended into dusk, and behind the charcoal clouds you could see the sun struggling to slick its way through the naked trees, and you were both numb and exhilarated, chilled by the little warmth that poured through the glass. 

You were exhausted. You couldn't pick up the magazines or books that the hospital offered; the pages would be lifeless. You wouldn't play any games on your phone; what entertainment would that offer? Dull skies, shadowy corners. It would become harder and harder for you to move eventually, to go out and be free to do whatever you wished. You could see it: you were stumbling in a walking sleep, and your head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The days would run into each other and clash, eventually crumbling and falling into a pit. 

But when you watched the snowfall, you thought that the white would soften the bleak lines of your despair. Perhaps it could catch a bit of light and reflect it back into your eyes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure standing, hands in pockets, and waiting, waiting to be noticed. Now  _that_ made you smile. Turning around, you saw Sans, and you motioned him to come over. 

"Sit with me," you rasped. "but don't kiss me. I taste disgusting. And the tubes will get in the way." 

He moved so he sat at the edge of your bed, careful with the bucket full of puke, but he didn't care. Sans wrapped an arm around you and nuzzled his face against your cheek. 

"how're you feeling, dollface?" 

You snorted. "Like shit." 

"i can tell." And it wasn't a lie. The circles under your eyes grew darker, and your skin paled that he was afraid that the circulation of your blood stopped completely. But when you grinned at him, your nose crinkling and eyes sparkling, he could barely tell that you were sick. 

"I wanna go home," you mumbled, placing your head on his shoulder. "I don't like it here. I... I keep hearing the doctors rush from room to room, and the heart monitor beeping, and then it all just... stops. And I see the bed roll out with a man, or a woman, or a child, and the nurses put the blankets over the bodies..." you shivered, tightening the blanket around you, and you felt like you were going to suffocate. "and I start to think a lot, because what if  _I'm_ next in a couple months?" 

He wrapped his other arm around you, and you leaned in so that your head was against his ribs. "hey, hey," he soothed. "don't say that. this... this whole thing going on—what was it called again? cryo-somethin'? cryo sleep?" 

" _Cryo sleep,_ Sans?" you laughed. "Chemo. And it sucks. I wish it was cryo-sleep, then I won't have any trouble getting some rest." 

"well, this  _chemo_ thing they're giving you, it'll help ya live a little longer. i dunno exactly how it works, but," he stroked your hair, and briefly remembered you explaining the side effects, one being losing all your hair. His let hand lingered on the back of your head for a little while longer. "it'll help. i'm sure of it. if it normally didn't, then these doctors here wouldn't be givin' it to ya, now wouldn't they?" 

"Mm, I guess not. But... I don't want to be the one to deny death. Trust me, I've said this before to Frisk, and I'll say it to you. Dying isn't scary, but cheating death? Rejecting it? That's a whole lot scarier than you think." 

He didn't reply to you. But he could hear the whirring of your oxygen tank, and that didn't do anything to appease him.

After a little bit, he jolted. 

"oh," he reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of gum. "gotcha a little present, pukey." 

"Holy crap," you moaned, gratefully reaching out for it. "thank you, thank you,  _thank you._ " 

You shoved a piece—no, three pieces—into your mouth and sighed, chewing loudly and letting the mint settle over your tastebuds. Sans chuckled, and wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close and sighing against your hair. 

Both of you looked outside, and watched the snow falling faster and thicker, and it eddied around the circle of lights from windows and street lights. It was gathering deep, transforming boulders into lumps, roads into blankets, and you thought of the accumulated snow similar to pillows. You wanted to do nothing but jump on it and sink into the cold. But the snow was so powdery, that a gust of wind knocked the snow off the coated boughs, and blew the cold against the window, the glass croaking and ice crawling from the corners. 

"It looks scary outside," you laughed. "it's almost like I can see a face in the clouds." 

Sans murmured under his breath, and you ran your hand up the length of his back and down. 

"reminds me a lot of snowdin." 

"I can see why," you nodded. "after all, you guys must have been  _snowed in_ the entire time, huh?"

It wasn't the first time he's heard that, or even  _made_ the joke himself. But when you smiled, proud of your little pun, he didn't have the heart to burst your bubble. 

"good one, kid." 

He smelled your hair. He felt your skin. He reveled in your warmth. 

"Hey, Sans?" 

"yeah?" 

"Merry Christmas." 

It didn't feel like Christmas. 

Where was the joy?

* * *

You celebrated Christmas two days later with your friends. When you came home from the hospital, dragging the oxygen tank behind you, you were welcomed in warm arms of Toriel, burrowing your face in her fur, and you felt Frisk attack and cling onto your leg. Then, there was Papyrus, who was more than ecstatic by seeing your appearance, and there was Undyne and Alphys, holding hands, and greeting you with warm welcomes, with the exception of Undyne's nicknames of "punk" and "loser" and "pukey." But you didn't mind, and hugged both females. 

All of you sat at the table, marveling at the feast that Toriel had slaved over. Holding hands with Sans under the table, you dug your fork into meat and potatoes, vegetables and bread, and you almost teared up on how good it tasted. There were times where Toriel had to speak up, urging you to slow down your pace of eating, but you only laughed it off, swallowed, and took a break, only to continue to scarf down the food. That earned laughs from Sans.

When finished, all of you gathered around the living room, and Frisk pulled out the Monopoly game that you had bought them as a present. Papyrus was so adamant on choosing the car, and bickered with Undyne until she declared victory over the automobile piece, leaving Papyrus to sulk. 

Looking at Sans, you smiled at him, fingers entwining with his boney, coarse ones, and slowly you brought them up against your lips to kiss them. 

You knew you wouldn't be celebrating Christmas again. 

And he did, too. 

* * *

Sans was with you a week later in the bathroom where you grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling out a chunk and staring at it. Instead of frowning, you smiled, and showed it to him. 

"Papyrus wants to start fitting in with the human culture, right?" you asked. "He can super glue this to his head for a start." 

He laughed so hard that he had to hold onto his ribs. It shouldn't have been funny. 

But you made it so. 

* * *

You couldn't stop feeling the smoothness of your head, and it was no lie that you were sad to see your hair go in such a whim. You laid next to Sans, his hands roaming in circles on the small of your back. You two were practically living together, either at his apartment or yours. His teeth would roam over your forehead, and the top of your smooth head, and then down to your cheeks. 

Everyday, you had a new symptom, whether you would have to rush to the bathroom, or you would be exhausted to the bone, or your entire body would feel numb, yet burning, and all you would do is lay in bed. At this point, you handed Sherlock Bones over to Frisk, your body and mind being too drained to do so much as to pet the poor thing. But you knew that Frisk would love the puppy, and you knew that Sherlock would be in good hands. When in pain, your arms would wrap around your stomach, and Sans would come from behind, engulfing you in his hold and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and clean jokes, and sometimes he would earn a smile, and he would feel proud. He would feel so proud, and so happy. 

Days seemed to be like this, laying in bed with Sans and doing nothing all day. It was right up his alley. You didn't mind, but you often looked back and wished you didn't take your energy for granted. You wish that you could do so much as get up and walk across the street for a cup of coffee, but your legs would buckle, and you would feel dizzy, and knowing your lack of strength, you would fall asleep in a matter of minutes. 

"can i get you anything, sweetheart?" he asked softly in your ear. "tea? blankets?" 

You shook your head, and rolled over so you faced him. "Just you." 

"easy enough." 

Leaning in, you placed a kiss on his teeth, and closed your eyes, having him follow suit, and you caressed your hand over his cheekbones. 

"Sans," you whispered. "I love you. So much. You know that?" 

"'course i do, doll," he responded, playful arrogance doused in his voice. "who wouldn't?" 

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and say you love me back, dummy." 

"okay, okay," he chuckled, his arms snaking around your waist and tugging you closer. "i love you too, (y/n). you can fight through this, okay?" 

He noticed the falter, the twitch in your smile, and suddenly you closed your eyes. "I've been keeping a mental count of how many times people have told me that." 

"what do you mean?" 

You sighed softly, and slowly opened your eyes, hues staring straight at his. "Everyone keeps on telling me to fight it, to fight for my life, to beat cancer's ass. I've heard stories in the past of how family member's won the battle, and how they're living happily and healthy, and that I have just as much of a chance as they do. But... I'm not going to fight, Sans. The cancer—it's already deep inside me. It's stirring like a pot of soup, and the temperature is only rising and rising, and I'm waiting until it begins to overflow." 

You began to wonder how he would look like if he frowned. Instead, you saw it in his eyes. 

"I'm going to be good. I'm going to be obedient, and let the cancer go through me. I'm not going to resist it. The chemo may extend my physical life span, but when I'm bound to a wheelchair and I can barely breathe on my own anymore... I don't consider that as living, Sans. I don't consider that as fighting cancer. I consider that as the acceptance for death." 

Why couldn't he ever find the right response for you? 

You sensed his troubled mind, and reached up to kiss him again, feeling the tubes under your nose smush against skin and bone. 

"Now," you continued, thumb running over the texture of his bones. "tell me more about the Underground." 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains smut. all of it.  
> goddamnit, finally. this took longer than it should've.  
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

1. **~~Make Toriel and Frisk smile everyday.~~**

**2. ~~ **Find my first love.** ❤~~**

**11. ~~ **To be meaningful to somebody.**~~**

****14. ~~ **To love and feel loved.**~~** **

****You dropped the pen and looked at Sans, who was laying down next to you. He was snoring softly—how did he even do that? Closing your book and settling it on the nightstand, you turned off the light and crawled under the sheets, laying your head on the pillow and reaching out for him.

He mumbled, turned, and opened his eyes, and you could see the faint blue hue in his left eye. But it subsided, and he sighed. 

"scared me, kid..." he said, and you smiled an apology. You could hear the movements in the room of his body, wiggling himself closer to you, and the low whir of your oxygen tank. He laid so that his head was on your chest, and he could hear your heartbeat, how fast it raced for him, how it pounded against your chest and repeated a mantra. You felt your face heat up, and he could sense your embarrassment. He lifted his hand up, grasping your right breast, and you squeaked, writhing underneath him. He laughed. 

" _Sans,_ " you groaned, and he just laughed more, raising his head so his eyes would meet yours. "c'mon. Why you gotta do that?" 

"heh. you woke me up. i should get this luxury," he retorted, then moved his other hand for your other breast. Squish squish. "see? they're so much fun to play with. and they're so soft, too..." 

" _Pffft..._  Hey. Hey, Sans. What kind of milk do bees make?" 

He didn't stop rubbing, and slowly he moved so his hands would slide under your shirt. "what?" 

" _Boo bees._ " 

He snorted, coughed, and laughed, his forehead pressing against your mounds, and you laughed, too, feeling your chest rumble and your eyes tear up. 

"i gotta say," he managed to speak, hands still under your shirt. "that was the  _breast_ joke i've heard in a while." 

"I can't think of anymore. Don't wanna start  _milking_ it." 

With his hands still under your shirt, both of you continued to laugh, and sigh, and feel the heat rise between bodies. 

"Is this what happens?" you whispered after a string of laughs. "We make boob jokes after an intimate moment?" 

"ah, well, you're dating me, so..." the tips of his phalanges run over your nipples, and you shivered, feeling them harden under his touch, and he gave a wolfish grin, a spark erupting in his eyes. "that kinda comes with the deal." 

You squeaked and twitched when he pinched your nipples, looking at him with wide eyes and mouth open. He hummed in approval, moving one of his hands away, to his disappointment, runs it up and down your hips, covered by your pajamas. 

"S-Sans." you whined, cradling his face between your hands. 

"hm? wh-what's wrong?" he immediately released his touch. "did it hurt, or... are you uncomfortable?" 

You were eternally grateful for his gentleness and concern. You smiled, and shook your head. 

"I want you to touch me," you whispered again. You took his hand and placed it under your shirt again, but guiding it down the waistband of your pajama pants. He felt his fingers run over something soft, the silk of your panties, and you began to see him sweat. You narrowed your eyes, and leaned in to press your lips against his temple, and murmur once more, "I want you to  _take_ me." 

He shuddered at the lewdness of your voice. You knew you were being a little wanton now. There was no doubt about it! But Sans didn't seem to mind—maybe he even encouraged it, deep down inside him. "a-are you sure?" he stuttered. "we'll... we'll take it as slow as possible. i... i really don't wanna hurt you..."

You nodded, and rose your hips slightly under his touch, feeling the tips of his phalanges over your covered sex. You closed your eyes and groaned. "I'm sure, Sans. I want this, I..." you opened your eyes. "We both _need_ this, just this once."  

He couldn't find the words to deny that, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to deny it. He nodded, and you leaned in to kiss where his lips are supposed to be, and he opened his mouth, the blue, ethereal tongue slithering through and surpassing your lips. He was slow, so achingly slow, and when he stroked your tongue with his, he wanted to savor your taste, the smoothness, and he wanted to feel the vibrations of your moans through his mouth. All while doing so, his fingers moved over your sex, having you jerk underneath him and emitting muffled squeaks through his mouth. 

And you made another noise, pulling away from his tongue and staring at him, mouth red, open, wet, and so needy,  _so_ enticing. "M-Move your hand a little more..." 

"huh?" he was snapped away from his trance, and when he looked down, he flushed. "o-oh. i... forgot i was doing that." 

You giggled, and it was like music to his ears. If he had any. "It's okay, just..." you moved your hand down with his, guiding his fingers through the fabric of your underwear. "like... this," your voice began to break. "and... if you rub over here..." you took his index finger and placed it over your clit, and you jolted at the pressure. " _oh,_ it feels so much better..." 

He found it so wonderfully fascinating how that small spot could reduce you into a squirming, arching, moaning woman underneath him. He continued to rub that spot softly in different shapes, different speeds and movements, and he paid close attention to your reactions. If your eyebrows were there, he would watch them furrow, as if you were in deep concentration. He watched how your eyes open and closed, scrunched or loosened, and how your mouth gaped open, and he could see the hint of your pink tongue poking out, licking your lips, and biting them. 

Sans thought you were the most beautiful, the most  _erotic_ thing he had ever witnessed. He listened how your breathing and gasps quickened, tightened, or released when he hit  _just the right spot_ , and he wanted nothing but to please you, to ravish you, to have you  _scream_ and grasp him. 

His hand moved so that it was trying to maneuver its way inside your panties, and when you opened your eyes, he nuzzled against your forehead. 

"can i...?" 

You nodded, arched against his touch, and he finally touched upon your wetness. He heard it, he could smell your arousal, and he felt a tightening around his bones that he couldn't quite perceive. He could feel how you were so soaked, so ready for his touch, and  _oh,_ how he  _adored_ the little noises you'd make. He reckoned how sensitive you were when he touched you bare, how you jerked when he'd merely skimmed over your clit, and he couldn't help but let out a moan of satisfaction himself. 

"you're so  _wet,_ " he said, voice guttural and feral, similar to the voice he used the last time you two shared an intimate moment. He pressed against your clit again, forcing you to release a moan louder than you intended. He chuckled. "i think i like these reactions better than when i'm playing with your chest..." 

"I-Insi-" you stammered, gulping and arching your back against his touch. "Inside me... your finger..." 

He realized that the effect he had over you made you lose your words. 

That was a first. 

"like... this?" he slid a finger inside you, and you moved your hips, convulsing under him as you fervently nodded. 

You felt so tight around his finger, so warm, and for a second he wondered how it would feel if he had a certain  _appendage_ inside you. 

"Y-Yes!" you gasped. "Move it...  _please_." 

So, he did, but a little reluctantly. Slowly, in and out, he moved it, and he watched intently for your reactions, and listened for any noises of protest. 

"Mmm," you murmured. "c-curl it..." 

He stopped moving. "come again?" 

"Curl your f-finger," you whispered. "like... you're motioning someone to come over..." 

"oh," he responded, and tested it out. He did what you told him, his phalange curling and twisting, and when you moaned louder, his grin widened. "i'm gonna take that as a good thing, yeah?" 

A gargled sound from your lips was your response, and if you weren't so enamoured with pleasure, you would be covering your face in embarrassment. But Sans loved it, he loved every inch of your being, of your pleasure, of your little noises that you would've deemed as "unattractive." His blue tongue creeped through his teeth and he attacked your neck, licking a thin line from your collarbone to your jawline, and every so often his teeth would nip your frail skin. He was careful, though, knowing that you bruise easily. And he knew that in the morning, your neck would have a necklace of purple and black bruises. He made a mental note to take care of you after you finished. 

Experimentally, he inserted another finger, and this time you gyrated your hips against his hand, desperate for more pleasure, for more friction. 

"you like that?" he breathed, tongue lapping at the shell of your ear, careful with the tubes that were wrapped behind it. "you like it when i stroke you here? you're so  _responsive_ ," he chuckled, a deep noise that pulsated against you. His thumb searched for your clit again, and it took him a couple clumsy seconds until he found that nub of pleasure, and you took a sharp intake of breath when he pushed against it. "oh? looks like you're just  _loving_ this, sweetheart. my fingers are so _soaked..._ " 

" _S-Saaaans,_ " you drawled. "I-I'm gonna. g-gonna..." 

He was going to continue and tease you, whispering sweet nothings and groaning in your ear, but your back curved upwards and your eyes were shut tightly. You let out a silent scream, pleasure ripping through your body, chest rising up and down, and he could see the light, bouncy movements of your breasts when you did. You tightened around his fingers, and he knew that if he stopped moving them, you wouldn't feel the same amount of pleasure as before, and the night would be as good as done. 

Your movements and sounds diminished into soft, yet deep and shaky breaths. He withdrew his fingers and observed them for a second, watching your wetness drip down, and he felt a great sense of satisfaction wash over him. 

"woah," he laughed, tongue licking over his coated fingers. You whimpered at the sight, and he wrapped his arms around you, teeth against your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. "that was pretty... amazing." 

"I'm..." you swallowed, and let out a breathy noise that was supposed to be a laugh. "I'm the one that's supposed to be saying that." 

"and i had the pleasure of  _watching_ you, each time you moaned and moved," he trailed his "kisses" down your jawline, and to your throat where he left light bruises. "and how you tightened so nicely around my fingers..." 

A sound of embarrassment left you, and Sans smiled, something so genuine and pure. He faced you again, and caressed your cheek. 

"you're so beautiful, (y/n)," he said, voice slightly cracking as if he were about to sob. "you're so goddamn beautiful." 

You didn't realize that he still thought of you that way, even during your chemotherapy. Even when you lost all your hair, your cheeks were rounded as if you were a chipmunk, and your skin paled so much that you felt like a walking corpse. You wanted to open your mouth in protest, to counter him, but with that look in his eyes, that sweetness in his voice, and how he treated you so carefully and lovingly, you felt tears sting in your eyes. 

"Thank you..." 

"so, uh," he began diffidently. "do you wanna... continue or... somethin'?" 

"Of course," you smiled, and you sighed against the pillow. "but I need a break. I'm really... sensitive. And my legs are all twitchy." 

"is that a good thing?" 

His voice had apprehension in it, and you nodded. 

"It's a  _very_ good thing." 

He adjusted himself, and toyed with the fabric of your pajamas. 

"lemme help you with this," he purred. "to save us the trouble for later." 

Heat spread like wildfire over your face, and you could only nod, letting him unbutton your shirt and letting it fall off your shoulders. He took the moment to gaze over your breasts, and remembered how they felt so soft, so perky under his touch, and suddenly he felt his bones quake in arousal. He let his hands course like a river over your smooth skin, and his touch wasn't lustful at all. If anything, it was more of an admiration, a sort of intimacy that made you want more for the rest of your time alive. He shimmied his fingers over the waistband of your pants and saw your underwear, pink and blue and decorative and all. 

"heh, these are cute." he ran his hand over them, and you blushed. He caught notice of the wetness seeping through the cloth, and it took all of his might not to touch that spot, knowing the delicacy your pussy was after your orgasm. Slowly, he slid them down, and he marveled at the sight of your sex, wet and pink, almost swollen-like, and he wanted to touch it, to  _lick_ it and to feel you buck against his mouth. 

You felt him stare, and you crossed your legs together abashedly. He slid back up so he was facing you again, and he watched you whole, naked beside him, free and open, and he felt his soul tighten. 

"you really are beautiful..." it was a proud statement delivered as a whisper. 

You covered your face with your hands and whined embarrassedly, and he took your wrists and pulled them away, leaning in and letting you kiss him. 

"i mean it. i really do, cancer or not, hair or none. and i want you to believe me... i wanna keep on  _showing_ you..." 

You were under a veil of compliments, and with your face flushed and lips pursed, you lifted your arm to tug on his sweater. 

"You have too much clothes..." with your other hand, you unzipped it and threw it off his shoulders, landing at the corner of the bed, and he helped you by pulling his shirt over his head, and you grasped the sides of his basketball shorts, pushing them down until they were at his ankles. He kicked them off, and you saw him whole above you, ribs against your chest, and then you realized how stout his bones were, how he was larger than you—although not in height—and you loved it. Your hands were on his ribs, and he softly hissed, fingertips petting his bones, and he didn't even do so much to  _try_ to hold back his moans. 

A blossoming gleam caught your eye, and curious, you looked down and widened your eyes, and you could feel him snicker nervously. 

"Is that a...?" 

"y-yeah... i, uh, did some research..." 

"Woah. Hey, lay down for a sec." 

He did what he was told, and slowly you moved so you sat on your knees near his feet, and you looked at his cock, standing and real and glowing and...  _thick._ You gulped, and looked at him, and his face was stained with blue. 

"Would you feel anything if I touch it?" 

He nodded. "yeah... it'll feel good." 

Your eyes darted to his cock again, and then to his eyes. "Can I... touch it?" 

" _please,_ " Sans didn't hesitate to respond. "touch it. just... don't overwhelm yourself." 

You took his cock in your hand, gently squeezing it, and you saw him close his eyes and roll his head back to the pillow. You stroked his member, from the base, to the front, and to the tip, circling your thumb over it, and he hissed. Taking it as a sign to continue, you grasped him tighter, and heard him gasp, shake, and then moan. To your pleasure, he was very  _vocal_ in bed, considering how he moaned and talked against your ear, and now completely powerless, controlling his pleasure, and watching his eyes open, then roll to the back of his head and tightly shut each time you rubbed the underside. 

" _god,_ " he stifled a moan. "stop. i'll... i'll come too fast, too soon." 

You immediately pulled away, and a heavy breath left him, a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. His cock throbbed with need, and oozed, and he wanted  _you_ , but he didn't let himself take you just yet, nor would he continue to let you touch him. 

"D-Did I hurt you?" you frowned. Erratically, he disagreed. 

"no, no, no," he laughed, and took your hand. You moved so you laid on your stomach next to him, and he inclined his head. "you still need to come for me _at least_ a couple more times." 

" _At least?_ " you scoffed, then grinned. "That's quite a goal you have there." 

His eyes watched the light curve of your back and your waist, and the roundness of your ass that he let his eyes linger for a while. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was so desperate, so deprived of your warm hand around the base of his cock. And he began to think how good your mouth would feel around him, your tongue teasing the head of his cock, lines and droplets of saliva coating it... 

He was a filthy monster with simple pleasures. 

Mentally, he shook his head, and decided that he would leave that request for another day, a day that you two would be more experienced and insightful of each other's needs. 

"you good now, dollface?" he pondered, voice gruff and fleshed with lust. You nodded, and he put his teeth on your shoulder. 

"Yeah," you said. "I am." 

"mm... lay on your back." 

You didn't ask why, but you did, and he placed his hands on either side of your head. You saw his tongue again, long and skilled, leaving from his parted mouth, and you opened your own willingly, letting his tongue tease yours. You felt the coolness of it, his breath slightly laboring, and you knew that after each movement he made, after each exploration, his arousal climbed higher and higher until he would find the pinnacle of the moment. 

He pulled away from your mouth and sighed. "good girl..." 

Your abdomen tightened at the pet name, and his tongue made a path from your neck, to your cleavage, to your stomach, until he finally reached your sex, still soaked and throbbing for attention. 

"W-Wait, Sans, I—"

You were cut off with his tongue on your clit, and you slumped against the sheets, hands instinctively resting to the top of his head. " _Oh,_ " you groaned. You pushed your hips against his tongue, aching for more, and he agreed to your request, tongue moving down to your folds and teasing your entrance. "Oh,  _god,_ Sans, don't stop!  _Ple-e-ase_ don't stop!" 

You were dripping, and you tasted  _so good_ on his tongue, the scent and your delicious moans only making him harder than he should be. He focused on the outside of your pussy, licking and sucking at your clit, then slowing down his movements until you were almost  _begging_ for him to go faster. There were times where he would pull away, blow gently on your swollen pussy, and you would flinch and groan, twisting and thrashing from his teasing antics. 

His tongue felt so much better than his fingers, and you felt a pleasure that you had never thought you would feel, and it drove you  _insane_. And you were already close, so close, and you felt your wetness drip down his mouth and onto the bedsheets, and you were  _so desperate._  He even reached down to his own cock to stroke himself to reward himself with some sort of pleasure.

"S-S-Sans, p-please," you stammered, arms and legs shaking. His tongue over your clit alone was too intense, and you needed a release— _badly._ "let me come. Please, please,  _please!_ "

He dipped his tongue inside you this time, earning a gasp and a delightful moan, and he could hear your breaths quicken, how your hands tightened over his head, and how you were bucking your hips to meet with his tongue. He was going to initially let you come, but since you asked  _so nicely_ , he gave one last, languid lick over your clit, and you were spent. 

After your second orgasm came, you were limp against the bed, and he saw the glistening sheet of sweat over your body, and how your mouth was open to catch your breath. You were so stunning, so sexy, you were downright heavenly, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But you were too lax, your mind was too dizzying to notice it. He crawled back up and laid his body next to yours, pulling you close against him, and he nestled his face at the crook of your neck. 

"how was that?" he asked, almost self-consciously. "you seemed to like it a lot." 

" _Like it?_ Sans, that was better than I imagined..." 

"imagined, huh?" he laughed. "you imagined about this?" 

You blushed all of the sudden, and nodded. "Y-Yeah... but... I started to just a few days ago..." 

"i'm not gonna lie; that's pretty hot." 

You tried to cover your face with your hands again, but he caught them in his own and settled himself on top of you again, pinning your hands over your head, and watching those eyes of yours widen and glaze with want. 

"Sans," you started. "please..." 

"hm?" he hummed, tilting his head to the side in feigned "please what? you're gonna have to be more specific..." 

You bit your lower lip. "Make love to me, Sans." 

That was all the consent he needed. 

"let me know if it hurts, 'kay? we'll stop right away." 

You nodded, and he moved so he was on his knees, and he wrapped your legs around his sides. He settled the tip of his cock against your wet folds, and his breath hitched, your heart was racing, and the need between you was sore. 

As leniently as possible, he slid his cock inside you, inch by inch, and you hissed at the unfamiliar sensation stretching you. It didn't hurt a whole lot, but there was a dull ache in your lower abdomen, and you felt full, so  _filled_ and it felt so  _right._ He was hunched over you, his eyes closed and his mouth open, and you could see the sweat drip down his bones. You groaned, shifting to make yourself comfortable, and Sans reveled in the feeling, the tightness of your warmth, and he tried to retain the sounds of his pleasure. 

"a-are you okay?" he croaked, struggling to focus his fixed stare on your sprawled, open figure under him. 

"Yeah," you responded. "it... it feels weird." 

Concern was splitting him open. "does it hurt?" 

"A little, but it's nothing I can't handle." 

He leaned forward to kiss your collarbone, and eventually the dull ache turned into a new ache entirely. The ache to stretch to the peak of your euphoria once more, and to please the loving monster that took care of you more than once. You could feel that he was trying to hold back, and you raised your hips again, a moan erupting his saccharine voice. 

"(y/n), y-you don't have to..." 

"Aw, are you tired already, Sans?" you mocked, rolling your hips again. You saw that blue glow in his eye again, and you knew that he needed to move, and he needed to move  _fast._

But he started to thrust gently, taking your tenderness from your previous orgasms into consideration, although it was gradually being replaced with a whole different kind of pleasure. Sans felt that his mind was being torn away from his soul, afraid that his control would be taken away and he would harm you, but your growing moans told him otherwise. 

He moved his hands under you and grasped your ass, and you squeaked in surprise. He gave it a squeeze, the flesh so round and supple, and he thought of it as a handle, using it to pull your hips closer to him, slamming his cock deeper inside you. It was slow, and perhaps he was growing a little rough, but you didn't mind. Any sting you felt was replaced with the familiar coil in your abdomen, and his moans would only let that coil tighten. 

His mind was blurred, drunken with love and lust, and he could hear the noises your wetness would make on his cock, and he could feel it dripping, covering his appendage to make it so much more easier to pound into you. He watched your breasts bounce with each thrust, the way your hands would squeeze the bedsheets, and your eyes would widen with each push of his cock inside you. You began to make noises that you thought were rather inhumane, animal-like, but Sans thought of it as the most seductive thing you could make out of that pretty little mouth of yours. 

"f-fuck, you're so tight, (y/n). you're so warm, you're so fucking wet... c-can you hear it?" a rich moan left him, and you half-gasped, half-whimpered at the sound. "you feel so good, you make  _me_ feel so good..." 

He stopped for a minute to adjust your legs, and the leaned closer to you so that your mouths were almost touching, and this time his movements grew faster. "you're so fucking perfect," it was like his words were coming naturally, like he wasn't paying attention to what he was saying. "your eyes, your skin, your  _fucking_ voice,  _god—_ " 

Your breathing was labored again, and you felt one of his fingers circle your clit. You jolted at the touch, and tossed your head back, your eyes tearing up, and the pleasure was so good,  _too good—_

"you like this, don'tcha? god, i could fucking  _devour_ ya. the things i could do to you, the th-things i'd do to make you  _scream._ " 

He was losing all control, and you knew it, but you weren't opposed to it. On the contrary, you loved this side of him, leaned over and moaning and muttering filthy words that made you all hot and bothered. 

"Sans...!" you cried, and he sighed against you.

"i love how the only thing... that comes from your mouth... is my fucking  _name..._ " Sans chuckled, and briefly slowed down his movements, and his fingers left your clit. You felt like you were going to cry at the lack of movement. 

"S-Sans, please, f-fuck... fuck me,  _please_!"

He skimmed his fingers over your cheek and grinned, and his need, his desperation to tease you was so carnal that he felt like he was going to explode himself. 

"i need you to be a little more specific, sweetheart," he breathed. "tell me  _exactly_ what you want." 

Maybe he was being a little too rough, or a little too selfish during this first time for both of you, but you didn't seem to complain. You were enjoying it too much, actually, and the way he dominated over you was so provocative, so  _inviting._  

"S-Sans, I-I love you, please, please go faster,  _please_  make me come, I n-need it, I—" 

He decided that it wasn't funny to push you anymore, so he obliged to your request, and slammed back into you. This time, you  _screamed_ , mouth wide like a fish out of water, and you were dragging your nails down his spine. The sensitivity sent him reeling, and both of you were so close, so ready to release and cling onto each other like a bunch of rabid animals. 

"Sans," you mewled. "I-I'm gonna—"

"come for me." he demanded, and you did, your movements stilling completely and your mind going blank of all things.

You let out a mixture of screams, moans, and whines; dire,  _shameless_ whines, and he felt you tighten around his cock, milking him, and he kept thrusting. You were so much more sensitive, and your cries became questionable after your climax. He couldn't tell what you were saying, but he wanted to keep hearing those noises all the time. He could feel himself itching closer and closer to his limit, and with a few more thrusts he spilled into you, practically sobbing your name in pleasure, and he sighed shakily and deeply, his cock disappearing just seconds after. 

Both of you were panting, your legs trembling, and Sans collapsed next to you. Slowly, you closed your eyes, and smiled. 

"Y-You have a dirty mouth, Sans..." 

He glanced at you, and pulled you closer to him, taking in the scent of sweat and  _you,_ and he chuckled. 

"you love it." 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a little bit! i was actually writing some of the final chapters ahead of time, and then i'll be kinda filling it in backwards. can you believe that i'm almost finished with this story? i feel so sad to end it soon.  
> i feel that this chapter is kinda... bland. sorry for that. <3

You were too weak to walk to the bathroom. Laughing at your dispute, Sans lifted you and carried you to the tub, and you dragged the oxygen tank behind you. Once there, he opened the faucet and let the water warm. 

"Such a gentleman..." you mumbled against his ribs, and he laughed. 

"don't you mean i'm a  _skele_ man?" 

When he set you gently down inside the warm water, you groaned and rolled your eyes. 

"Lame. 0/10. Try again." 

"what?" he asked, turning off the faucet once the water reached up to your chin. He stepped in soon after and sighed, watching you fumble with your cannulas and making sure it didn't get caught in the water. "are my jokes not  _punny_ enough for you?" 

"You're just lacking common  _Sans_." 

Both of you laughed. 

"good one, doll." 

"Thank you, thank you," you bowed your head. "I'll be here all week." 

You grabbed the soap bar and twirled it in your hand, letting the suds coat your palm, and then you began to scrub it over your body. 

"here, lemme help," he offered. "turn around." 

You lacked the energy to oppose, so you handed him the bar of soap and turned so your back was facing him. He rubbed the soap gently over your back, and his fingers trailed the visible spine that poked through your skin. It was a sign of your lack of nourishment. While the foam of the soap was smearing over you, he trailed each freckle, each scar, each vein and bruise, and especially each bone that was visible, and he sighed, wondering how he deserved someone so beautiful, so real, as if you were sculpted out of marble. 

"you in pain, sweetheart?"

You shook your head no, and he continued to rub your skin.

"This was nice," you murmured. "let's do it again." 

Sans laughed. "we'll talk when you're not half asleep, doll." 

Closing your eyes, you moaned under his touch, the relaxation of his fingers massaging and roaming over your body, much gentler and less lustful than minutes ago. Sans placed his chin on your shoulder, and you could feel his breath on your damp skin. 

"hey." 

"Hm?" 

He smiled, and kissed your cheek. "i love you." 

"I know." 

* * *

Your head was on his sweater as the two of you looked into the sky. Stars glittered around you, but some were blocked by high, frothy clouds. In the city, the stars weren't bright enough, but it would have to do. 

"It's pretty," you said. "sometimes I wonder if someone is out there, in another planet, looking into the sky like we are." 

He hummed a reply, and you moved so your head would be on the ground next to him. He turned so your eyes would meet, and he saw the smile, the glossy texture in your eyes. 

"Sans," you started, holding his hand. "There are countless of thoughts cartwheeling in my head. I have so many words in my head just as there are stars against our eyes, so many truths and sorrows waiting to jump from my tongue, and so many realizations that would fill a my grave. I have so much to say, and so little time, and you've been here, listening to my rambles, placing them somewhere deep in your mind to remember them. But... I realized that... you haven't told me much. About anything. About your full life in the Underground, about your relationship with Frisk and Papyrus. And I sense that there's a crack inside you, Sans, a crack that can never be fixed, even with the strongest of tape and glue. And I can feel that the crack you have is the source of your troubles, your  _nightmares._ " 

He stiffened, and you took his hand that was on your cheek, and kissed his knuckles. 

"you can see  _right through me,_ can'tcha?" 

He forced a chuckle, but you only peered at him. 

"okay," he sighed. "okay. i'll tell you. i'll tell you everything, from the beginning. but i can't assure you that this is a happy story." 

"All I expect, Sans, is that you tell me the truth, the  _whole_ truth." 

You leaned in and pressed your forehead against his. His breath was strained. 

"i'm ain't a poet, (y/n). i'm more of a storyteller. but this... this whole... thing... it's on my hands. it's written all over my fingers, i-i never wanted to tell anyone, and i was sure that i would take it with me when i turn into dust. " 

"But now," you whispered. "I'll be the one taking it with me to the grave." 

His hands were shaking. 

He sharply inhaled, and continued. 

* * *

The heavy scent of his guilt stroked the walls of your lungs. And his fear, the fear so strong that you swore you could hear his voice stagger, and his mind spinning, wondering if you would think of him differently. He feared you would shove him away and never speak a word to him again, the same words that he cherished and cradled in his hands so carefully. 

But you didn't do any of that. 

You held him, and he suppressed cries and whimpers at the memories. You kissed him, and whispered gentle words to him, his quaking hands stilling and his breaths softening. You didn't know what to think of his memories, of the timelines he fought against, and how the beast often took over sweet Frisk's mind. But it was trauma that ate him away, the nightly jolts he gets when he wakes up, and the nights he looks over to you, gently waking you to make sure that you're still there with him. 

He closed his eyes and slumped against you, as if his own words used up all his energy. 

"i feel like i can't put myself back together, even with you filling in the gaps," he whispered. "it's like one of those puzzles that you lose the pieces. you look everywhere, under the bed and the couch, and it feels like it's lost forever."

You tightened your hold around him, and you felt your throat dry. "Trauma is personal, Sans. It doesn't disappear if it isn't proven. It doesn't disappear when it's ignored. It doesn't disappear when you're isolated. But when you let someone enter your pain, when you let someone hear you cry and scream, that's when you can start to heal." 

He lifted his head to look at you, his teeth gritting tight against each other, and his eyes bright and teary. 

"I want you to start healing, now that you've taken this step," you kissed him again. "I want you to try. Can you do that for me?" 

He nodded, and tears dropped from his eyes to the fabrics of your clothes. 

You wondered about Frisk, knowing that they lived the same life as he did, knowing that they had the power to reset. No bad dreams, no lost memories. And you wondered if Sans was jealous of Frisk, seeing how they dealt with everything better than he did. You thought about a hollow look in Frisk's eyes, and maybe, just maybe, Frisk disguises everything for everyone's benefit, that they, too, are broken on the inside. 

"I don't think of you differently, Sans, nor do I think of Frisk any different either. What you went through was something so grieving that it hurts to imagine. I'm going to help you take this first step, and I'm going to help you mend your wounds. I don't care how long it takes. Do you understand me?" 

He nodded again, and this time he closed his eyes. 

"thank you, (y/n)." 

You watched him for a moment, and you smiled. 

"Don't thank me for loving you." 

* * *

You made another visit to the hospital, this time with Sans and Papyrus. They sat in the metal chairs in your room, watching, waiting. Taking your pulse, hearing your breaths, and jotting down your blood pressure, the doctors ran a series of blood tests. By the end, you felt drained. 

After, the same, elderly doctor came in, and smiled. You could see the dimples in his grin. 

"It's nice to see you again, (Y/N), and friends." he nodded to Sans and Papyrus. 

"ARE YOU THE CARETAKER OF OUR (Y/N)?" Papyrus asked, and your doctor laughed, seemingly unfazed by his booming voice. 

"Indeed. I'm here to make sure Miss (Y/N) is getting the best treatment she can. She's in good hands, sir." 

A breath of relief was released from Papyrus, and Sans only looked at his brother, grateful for his natural, caring nature. Then he looked at you as you laid on the bed, and he gave a nod of encouragement.

"Now, I'm going to go over some questions for you about your treatment," the doctor flipped the pages in his clipboard. "Have you experienced frequent pains, aches, and chills?" 

"Yes." 

"Have you been experiencing bruises and popping of veins across your body?" 

"Yes." 

"Have you been feeling a shortage of breath, with and/or without your oxygen tank?" 

"Yes." 

"Hm." 

His eyebrows knitted together in thought, and asked a final question. "Have you been feeling any difference with the chemotherapy?" 

You stopped, and looked down at your lap, at your nails, and back to the doctor. 

"No. Not so much. Maybe... a little bit better, though, if I'm honest. But I feel more fatigued, more..." you shook your head. "More sick, I guess. Even with the drugs you prescribe." 

"Hm." 

You heard the scribbling of his pen. 

"How about we start the second cycle of your chemotherapy?" he offered. "And an added dosage of drugs. Let's say... prednisone and cytarabine. Then we'll take it from there." 

You nodded. "Okay." 

Papyrus and Sans were both lost in the medical language, but they knew that from the expression of the doctor, and how you were so reluctant to answer, it wasn't a good thing. 

"DOCTOR," Papyrus said. "WILL (Y/N) BE OKAY?" 

The rest of you knew the answer, but the doctor was so kind enough to smile at the taller skeleton. 

"She will be, yes," he assured. "just adding more medicines to make her feel better. Just be careful with her for now on, okay?" 

"we will, doctor." 

"Hey, Papyrus," you looked over at him, desperate to change the subject. "why don't we stop by Moonbucks and get some coffee? I feel bad that you took this day off just to come along in this visit." 

"NONSENSE!" he declared. "YOU ARE WORTH IT, HUMAN! YOUR HEALTH IS MUCH MORE IMPORTANT!" 

"Well, this is all settled," your doctor sighed as he stood up, and you swore you could've heard the popping in his old bones. "We'll mail you a copy of your blood work once the results are in. Until then, we'll set up an appointment tomorrow for your next round. Sounds good?" 

"Sounds good." 

When he left the room, Sans helped you off the bed, and Papyrus practically  _sprinted_ out of the hospital, eager to have a fun time at Moonbucks with his dear brother and friend. You held onto Sans's arm, and when he scanned his eyes over yours, you could read them like an open book. He knew, from the doctor's expression, from your answers, and he was afraid.

"I know, Sans," you whispered. "I know." 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here you go! it's a little poo chapter but hAPPY HAPPY HAPPY STUFF. YAY. i swear i'll add more happy stuff, ok? ok love u guys <3 <3  
> follow me @ smallybells.tumblr.com

Undyne proposed to Alphys the same night you came back from the hospital.

It was dinner at Toriel's, and the table was set up so neatly, just how she likes it. Freshly baked rolls were warm and soft, and the chicken was tender and seasoned so deliciously. It was a perfect night for Undyne to get down on one knee, pull the ring from her pocket, and ask Alphys to be her wife.

Ah, a perfect night it was to propose, but it wasn't really a  _coordinated_ night either. 

As Undyne knelt down on one knee in front of Alphys, everything began to flow smoothly. Alphys was a blushing mess, Undyne had that shit-eating, delightful grin on her face, and everyone was taken aback by her boldness. 

She lost her balance and fell face first on Alphys's feet. 

Your initial reaction was to laugh, but you were much nicer than that, and rushed over to Undyne's side to help her up. She swatted your hand away, as if you were insulting her strength and couth. Alphys had a small, round-mouthed smile on her face, and continued to wait for the words to come out. 

"Alphys," Undyne began, trying to hide the redness of her face. She reached in her pocket for the ring, and pulled it out. "w-will you, uh... marry me?" 

You gripped onto Sans's arm and squealed. 

"O-Of course!" Alphys exclaimed, and everyone erupted in cheers. "Of course I-I'll marry you and y-your clumsiness..." 

When Undyne slipped the ring on her finger, she leaned in for a kiss. 

And they missed. 

"smooth, undyne," Sans chuckled. "real smooth." 

"WELL, I THINK IT'S CUTE! IT'S NOT EVERYDAY YOU GET TO SEE SUCH A ROMANTIC SCENE!" 

"Congratulations, you two!" you exclaimed, running up to hug both of them. They were careful with you, taking your health into heavy consideration. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! We didn't expect this to happen so soon!" 

"Neither did I..." Alphys murmured, rubbing her arm up and down abashedly. "B-But I'm happy she proposed..." 

You looked back at Sans, your face beaming and shining, and you look back to both females and hugged them again. 

Sans had never seen you happier than you were then. 

"When is the wedding, you two?" Toriel asked as Frisk scoots by her, and tackles Undyne's legs. Laughing, Undyne looked at Alphys and shrugged. 

"Dunno. Didn't think I'd actually get this far with my nerd." 

"Well," you laughed. "how about I'll help you plan it? For starters: do you want a big wedding or a small wedding?" 

"Big." 

"Small." 

When they looked at each other, you started to laugh. 

"Medium. Let's go with medium. Everyone's happy with medium." 

"I-I think," Alphys stuttered. "that, um... I'd like to experience a, uh... human wedding..." 

"So, you'd like a white dress and a big cake and all?" 

Alphy nodded. "Y-Yes! That's if, um, if Undyne is okay with it, too..." 

"Hey," Undyne kissed the top of Alphys's head. "I'm okay with anything you want." 

"A-And, um, (Y/N)?" she asked. "Can... you come dress shopping with us?" 

You looked back to Sans again, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he looked just as elated as you were. You pointed at him. 

"You're coming with us." 

"fun." 

* * *

Sans was tired. Bone tired. He wanted  _out._ Waiting for hours outside the dressing rooms for Alphys and Undyne to finish fitting their dresses was more boring than watching paint dry. He was lucky that you were with him whenever you weren't helping them find a different dress. When you would sit with him, he would lay his head on your shoulder and you would hold him close as he breathed in your scent. He would move sometimes to kiss your forehead, or your temple, or your cheek, until you were blushing and swatting him away from embarrassment. 

And, of course, there were times where he would tease you, with his hand on your knee, slowly trailing to your upper thigh until you were squirming, pushing his hand away so his movements wouldn't have too great of an effect on you. 

What can he say? He was bored as hell. 

"Weddings are beautiful, Sans," you whispered to him one moment. "There's something so magical about it, seeing two people so happy and so in love. It's amazing. And a lot of people tend to get emotional, even the cake is in...  _tiers._ " 

He slowly turned his head, and it took him many seconds to register. 

He started to laugh. 

"that one had a  _ring_ to it, huh?" 

You began to laugh, too. "You know what they say about waterbeds—once a married couple buys one, they start to  _drift away_ from each other." 

"oh, god," he shook his head, and you threw your head back in laughter. "i don't know a whole lot 'bout human customs. can't make too many jokes now." 

After wiping your eyes, you sighed and this time, you leaned your head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you tight against him. 

"you're perfect, y'know?" 

"I know." 

"you make jokes without having me initiate 'em." 

"I know." 

"and you're sexy as hell." 

You lifted your head to meet his gaze. 

"I know." 

Giggling, you felt him nuzzle against you, and then you started to raise your eyebrows, if you had any left. 

"Hey," you said. "hey, can you gimme a sec? I'm... I'm gonna do something real quick." 

"uh, sure," he pulled away and you stood up, pulling the handle of your oxygen tank and wrapping your purse around your shoulder. "wait, sweetheart, where ya goin'?" 

You didn't look back. "To finish one of my wishes!"

* * *

It took you a while to convince the woman to let you try on a dress. But you pulled the whole,  _"Are you really going to deny a dying girl her wish?"_ trick, and that launched the sales associate into in different dresses, pulling them out and asking which one you'd like, what style you'd enjoy, etcetera. Normally, you weren't a fan of manipulating people, but what was the harm in this one? It's a  _wedding dress,_ not you trying to rob a damn bank. 

But the lady found a dress that she thought that would suit you, and your eyes were practically  _exploding_ from your eyes when you looked at yourself through the mirror. It was long and flowy, with lace designs over the bust and the split of the skirt. Lace sleeves went down just above your forearms, and a delicate, jeweled waistband wrapped around you to accentuate your curves. It was open back, however, but the bust was not low-cut, and covered the majority of your chest area. 

"You look beautiful," the lady commented, but lacked the emotion in her voice. "should I grab your friends?" 

"Y-Yeah," your voice caught in your throat. "yeah. Please." 

It took her a while, but she managed to find Sans (who she was a little frightened by, given how she wasn't quite used to the presence of monsters just yet, or really liked them at all,) and you swore you could've seen his pupils form into tiny, white hearts. 

"w-woah," he stammered, and you laughed at his awe. He took a step forward, and lifted the veil that covered your face. You laughed again at the clearer view of his face. "woah..." 

"Is that all you can say, Sans?" you mocked. When you stuck your tongue out, he blushed, and he continued to stutter. 

"y-you look..." he could feel his breath hitch. "you just look amazin'... no, not amazin'. there's another word, i just can't find it. but beyond amazin'. like, 100%  _above_ amazin'." 

His hands traveled from your shoulders to your arms, and to your sides, and your eyes were cast down to the floor. 

"I never thought I'd look like this," you whispered. "I've always thought I'd wear a wedding dress with a full head of hair, with my father walking me down the aisle to marry the person I love. And now..." 

You could see his face hesitate the awe-struck expression he had. You smiled.

"This is better than I imagined. This may not be a proper wedding, but it is my wish to wear a wedding dress. It's a bonus that I have you to witness it in full view." 

You opened your arms to engulf him, and he buried his face against the crook of your shoulder. And he whispered softly in your ear. 

"you're stunning." 

"Found the word now?" 

He chuckled. "i'll find more later. and i'll give 'em to you, just how you give me your words." 

You sighed against him, closing your eyes, and taking a deep, yet wavering breath. 

    12.  ~~ **Wear a wedding dress.**~~


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa i hope this chapter is better. sorry, i was tired last night and i wanted to get something out. <3  
> follow me @ smallybells.tumblr.com  
> (in desperate need of followers and friends and fanart) <3

The day had ended and afternoon thickened to dusk. It's been two days since you helped Alphys and Undyne choose their wedding dresses, and two days since you completed one of your wishes. On your stomach laid your journal, fingertips stroking the cracks of bound leather, and apparently, watching the ceiling was utterly entertaining. 

Your second round of chemo was scheduled for tomorrow.

Toriel was talking about how you should be under monitored care often, by either any doctor, or Sans, or even herself. She had a plan to keep a cabinet full of blankets and extra medicines for you, in case if there was an emergency, and she had the ambulance on speed dial. And as much as you appreciated the thought, the thought of being under close watch 24/7 made you uneasy. 

"Toriel," you said one night after supper, helping her wash the dishes and place them in neat stacks. "I'm so happy you and everyone else cares for my wellbeing. I really do, but..." 

"Yes, child?" she inquired sagely, drying her paws against a towel. 

A strange sound was made in the depth of your throat, and you turned your nose down to the sink. "Heh. Wouldn't you say that life is too short for abstinence?" 

She smiled; a generous, yet a cautious motion. "I'm not quite sure where you're getting at." 

"I mean—" you swallowed. "I mean that... wouldn't you think that life is too short for restraint? Wouldn't you want to do anything you can in a short amount of time?" you smiled weakly, lifting your head to observe the only mother figure you have. "Life is born under sunlight, and death comes down in rain. And I'm currently caught in the middle of a storm. I don't have an umbrella, or a raincoat. And here I am, waiting for the lightning to strike me. But even then, like what a child would do, I want to play in the rain. I want to splash in the puddles, I want my skin to prune from being exposed in the rain for too long, and I want to hear the claps of thunder.

"But, Toriel, as much as I adore you, I don't want you to call out for me, dragging me back inside to dry up and hide from the rain. I don't want to watch the rain behind a window, waiting for it to pass. I want to be out there, spinning and dancing, watching the sky as the lightning flashes behind clouds, watching as it slowly comes towards me. I want to  _live_ in the rain, not run from it." 

She pocketed your words and pressed her lips together, regarding your sentiment. Then, she laughed a soft laugh—thin and droning, practiced to perfection. "Are you forbidding me to do my job, as a mother?" 

It was a joke that came out as humorless. You shook your head. "Of course not. You should do what you feel necessary to do. But you also have to let these turning points happen. It's both a privilege and a burden as a mother." 

You turned to face her, and without warning, you opened your arms and wrapped them around her frame, your face bundling in her wiry fur. You sighed, in a sort of way that signaled the end of the conversation. "I love you, Toriel. As a friend. As a mother. As family. And I want you—I  _need_ you to let me do this. I need you to let me go." 

The palm of her paw rubbed your back in circles, and you heard her sigh against you, her eyes closing and face trying to tighten, trying to pull herself together. 

"Of course," she whispered in response. "of course. Anything for you, dear. But... I need you to be careful." 

"I'll try my best," you said between your smile. "but I can assure you that I will not regret anything." 

* * *

"Papyrus?" you asked when you opened the door to his apartment. "You're home early!" 

"AH, YES!" he nodded. "I DECIDED TO TAKE THE REST OF THE DAY OFF." 

You smiled as you tugged your oxygen tank behind you. You settled yourself on the couch next to the taller skeleton. "That's good! It's nice to take a break once in a while. What do you plan to do?" 

"ACTUALLY," he scratched the back of his skull. You began to see tints of orange over his cheeks. "I WANTED TO ASK YOU SOMETHING, (Y/N)." 

"Go for it." 

"UM, AH... HOW TO BEGIN?" Papyrus chuckled nervously. "I WAS WONDERING, SINCE YOU AND MY DEAR BROTHER ARE MUCH IN LOVE... UH... HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU'RE, UH...  _IN LOVE?_ " 

You blinked. Then you tilted your head to the side, letting his question sink in, and then you grinned like a fool. "Papyrus? Do... you love someone?" 

He looked down to his knees, his voice lowering, but still loud and bright in your ears. "W-WELL... MAYBE NOT YET, BUT... HAVE YOU HEARD OF METTATON BEFORE?" 

Mettaton, Mettaton. The vaguely remembered Sans saying something about the robot-monster running a TV show in the Underground, but that's about it. "I think I have..." 

When his blush deepened, you couldn't help but widen your smile. 

"HE... HE CALLED ME, AND WANTED TO MEET UP FOR A CHAT. I THINK HE MEANT A DATE! BUT... I LOST MY DATING HANDBOOK, AND..." 

"Wait, wait, Papyrus, you had a dating  _handbook?_ " 

When he lifted his gaze, he looked at you as if you were some foreign creature. "DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T HAVE ONE OF THOSE?" 

"I..." you shook your head. "Er, forget about it. Anyway, continue!"

With a wave of your hand, Papyrus cleared his throat and sat up straighter. 

"METTATON WANTS TO MEET UP AT MOONBUCKS TONIGHT, BUT... I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! WITHOUT MY HANDBOOK, I'M LOST! HOPELESS! CLUMSY!" 

"No, no, no, Papyrus, you're none of that!" you reached over to wrap your arm around him. "Dating is something that should come naturally. Granted, you'll be a little faulty here and there, but it's about practice and experience. Since you seem to like Mettaton so much, I think you should definitely go for it and get the experience. Do you know what he's doing now that monsters are aboveground?" 

"NO, I DO NOT. I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO HIM IN QUITE SOME TIME, AND I'M EXCITED TO BEGIN THIS DATE! BUT I'M ALSO—"

"Nervous?" 

He nodded. 

"YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION, (Y/N)!" he changed the subject. "HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN LOVE?" 

"Hm..." you hummed, chewing on your lower lip, and averting your gaze into a blurred distance to think. "Love, generally, has the standard definition all around. But for everyone, it may have a different meaning. For me, love is very... sudden. It's like a gravitational push—forceful, unstoppable, and inevitable. Being in love is falling for your partner's past, and falling for your partner's future. Falling in love with a specific person is like having a kitten burrow itself in your heart, or in this case, your _soul._ You... you feel this warmth inside you, the kind of warmth that makes you want to take that kitten in your arms and coddling it, just as you would with your partner."  

He soaked in your words and looked down to his lap again. This time, you could almost feel the heat radiate from his cheeks. 

"I FEEL," he began with uncertainty, like he's choosing his words carefully. "I FEEL HAPPY WHEN I THINK OF METTATON. I FEEL... LIKE I WANT TO TALK TO HIM MORE, TO... TO SPEND ALL MY FREE TIME WITH HIM." 

"Well," you put your hand on his knee. "that's a good start. You're on the right track, Papyrus." 

He launched forward to squeeze you into his embrace, but was careful enough not to harm you in any way. "THANK YOU, (Y/N). OH, I'M SO EXCITED! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE THIS THE BEST DATE METTATON AND I WILL EVER HAVE, AND I WILL MAKE SURE THAT THERE WILL BE  _PLENTY_ MORE OF MY SUPERB DATING SKILLS!" 

There was the Papyrus you knew! He pulled away from you and held your shoulders. 

"THANK YOU, (Y/N). OH, I'M SO HAPPY THAT MY BROTHER IS DATING SOMEONE SO WONDERFUL!" 

You had to blush at that. "Oh, hush, Papyrus," you shook your head and stood up from the couch. "Now, are you gonna start getting ready for the date, or are we going to sit here until pigs fly?" 

"OH," his eyes softened and drooped. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO STRAIN YOURSELF, (Y/N). YOU'RE VERY ILL, AND YOU SHOULD GET AS MUCH REST AS YOU CAN. I CAN TAKE THINGS FROM HERE!" 

You shook your head. "Nonsense. We need to get your outfit ready!" 

* * *

It was when the moon finally rose, and shingles of stars sparkled like shards of silver, paving their way into the milky darkness of the sky. Sans sighed when he shoved his hands in his pockets, dealing with yet again  _another_ tetraphobic human, sneering and scowling at him as he served nice creams and hot dogs to kids. He dealt with these comments everyday, and it was no news to him that the majority of humans despised or feared monsters. But being spat on? Pushed at? Insulted at for just standing there? He was getting real tired of their shit. 

But he was so grateful to come home to a loving companion, someone who gives no shit about social norms, and he could have you lay in his arms all night—talking, humming, laughing. It was something he looked forward after every night. 

He opened the door to his apartment and saw you sitting on the couch, a book in your hands, and when you lifted your eyes from the book, he could feel his soul flutter at your smile. 

"Welcome home!" you exclaimed. You began to stand up, but Sans moved towards the couch instead to sit next to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

"hey, sweetheart," he sighed. "damn, am i glad to be home. it's complete  _nonsans_ how humans treat monsters." 

Aside from his pun, your expression fell into one of concern. 

"What happened today?" 

"just the usual," he shrugged. "insults. glares. some pushing. these monster hatin' folks just keep coming 'round and 'round now." 

You rested your head on his shoulder and whined. "That's terrible... I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to go through that..." 

"hey, s'long as i have my girl by my side." 

"Why aren't people doing anything about it?" your voice tumbled down and cracked. "These are just verbal. I can't even imagine the physical abuse that would start rising..." 

"i'll be fine," he held you closer. "it's no big deal. just draining." 

It was then Sans noticed the silence of the room, and he looked around to his left, then his right, and then behind the couch. 

"where's papyrus?" 

You chewed on your lower lip. "Um... about that... well," you shifted so you moved your body away from him. "He came home from work early, but... he had a reason." 

"...and that reason was?" 

"He, uh... he had a date... with... Mettaton..." 

A pregnant pause. Crickets could almost be heard.

"he _what?_ "  

"Yeah." 

"you're tellin' me that my brother went on that date with that over-sized, selfish  _calculator?_ " 

Well, he didn't sound too happy for his brother, nor with you, who helped him prepare for the date. 

"Sans," you began calmly, the polar opposite of his fuming aura. "he explained it to me and his reasons were very plausible. It's a simple date at Moonbucks, nothing too fancy." 

"no, no, (y/n), you don't understand—" he stood up now, the stress of his full day at work, the monster-haters, and his brother on a date with the very being he  _greatly disliked_ was getting the best of him. "you  _let_ him go on the date?" 

Your eyes were wide now. "Y-Yeah. I didn't see the problem. I knew where he was going, what they planned to do, and I even made sure he has a curfew. I... don't see the problem." 

"the  _problem_ is  _humans,_ (y/n). you realize that these monster-hatin' people are forming groups now? god, i can't even  _think_  about the things they can do to papyrus. and  _mettaton?_ really? out of  _all_ the people and monsters he could've choose, he chose  _that?_ " 

You've never heard him so upset, so angry, and you felt terrible, terrible for both Papyrus and Sans. 

"i'm gonna call him," he grumbled, reaching in his pocket to pull his phone. "and he's gonna get home as soon as possible." 

"No, Sans, don't call him!" you shook your head and reached for his phone, taking it from his hands. "Like I said, I told him his curfew. He'll be home any moment now. You have to realize that Papyrus is responsible enough to go on whatever dates he wants to." 

"that's not the  _point!"_ he nearly growled. "i'm  _pissed_ because he went on a goddamn date with a fucking  _calculator_ , and with these monster-hatin' assholes going around, it's not making this paranoia of mine any better. oh, and not to mention that it was so  _wise_ of you to let him go!" 

You flinched back at his sarcasm, and he grabbed his phone again. "Sans... I only wanted to help him..." 

"well, now's not the greatest time to help," he sneered again, his anger and stress continuing to eat him. "maybe you'll be more useful when you're bedridden than with us." 

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. He froze in place, eye sockets widening, and he saw your lower lip quiver—from anger, fear, or hurt, he couldn't quite make it out. He expected you to shout back, to reply with a snappy retort, because that was all he deserved at that moment. But he knew that you weren't the type to yell, or to show anger in return. You weren't that type at all. He watched your figure as it slumped, and your eyes were glossed over with possible tears, and he felt the guilt seep in, and he felt it seep in  _deeply._  

"sh-shit, (y/n), i—"

The door flew open and Papyrus was standing at the doorway, dressed casually in a plaid shirt and jeans, and he had the  _biggest_ grin you've ever seen on his face. It made you feel a bit better. 

"(Y/N)! SANS!! OH, I HAD THE MOST  _WONDERFUL_ TIME TONIGHT!!!" 

His voice was so loud, so booming, so full of excitement, and you forced a smile. 

"That's great, Pap." you said, and Sans could hear the shaking of your voice. It was like a rusty knife digging through his soul. "but... I was actually about to head to bed. Why... don't you tell me about it later?" 

"OF COURSE! SLEEP WELL, HUMAN! AND THANK YOU," you thought he was going to explode from enthusiasm. "BECAUSE IT WOULDN'T HAVE GONE SO SMOOTHLY IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR ADVICE!" 

Sans felt like the scum of the earth. 

"I'm happy," you smiled again. "I'm very happy for you. Well... I'll be going now," you took your oxygen tank and rolled it behind you. "Goodnight, guys." 

You didn't look back when you shut the door. 

Sans stumbled against the couch and fell against the cushions. Papyrus peered at his brother with apprehension. 

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT, BROTHER? WHY DID (Y/N) SEEM SAD?" 

He shook his head. "she's just tired, bro," he felt his anger sweep away and replaced wholly with regret, with shame. How did he even let himself blame you? For all the kindness you've given, you've been nothing  _but_ helpful. And that dejection on your face... He knew that it would be carved in his mind for life. "hey... tell me 'bout your date with mettaton." 

When Papyrus went on and on about how well his date went, Sans nodded and grinned, and approved of Papyrus's happiness. 

But his mind was somewhere else. 

And it was then he remembered: 

Your chemo would start again tomorrow. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys must hate me for last chapter.  
> i like that effect i have on you.  
> sorry this is shorter. but i hope y'all enjoy <3 <3

He didn't sleep. How could he? His body constricted when he thought of your crestfallen face, the tremor of your lower lip, and the thin sheet of tears glistening in your eyes. He remembered the sorrow in your voice, so thick and heavy, full of guilt that  _shouldn't_ have been there. And he felt terrible, so  _awful_ that he didn't know how to approach you. 

It didn't help that your second round of chemo would begin. Another thing that he cursed himself at. You probably wanted to spend the rest of the night with him _peacefully_ before signing yourself in the hospital again, and staying in bed, hunched over a bucket to empty your vomit from the radiation. 

He tightened his teeth together. It came to him in a wave, the realization that loneliness was your friend that night after the fight, and how you must have laid in bed, sheets piled onto you, and wondering why he was so angry, why what you did was so wrong, and he felt  _sick._ He didn't mean a single word what he said towards you; you've been so helpful to him, so maternal and so loving. He hated how both of you were apart, alone, cold, and  _damn it,_ he couldn't stop thinking about you. He couldn't stop thinking about your laugh and smile when he came home that night, the frown and pain from his sharp words, and he wanted to  _scream_ at himself. 

But the worst part about it? 

He hurt you, especially when you didn't deserve more pain. 

And the scary part about it? 

You didn't fight back. 

He would prefer for you to yell back at him, to stand up and fend for yourself, but he hated— _he despised_ the fact that you stood there, eyes wide, heart aching from his quarrel, and you just left, just  _walked right out_ after bidding a goodnight to both skeletal brothers. And he hated himself for letting you walk away, he hated himself for the brutality of his words, and he hated himself for the misty, horrified expression on your face that he caused. 

The darkness of his room had no sound. An empty, hollow silence that perched on his shoulders, and it was so present, so threatening, but never coming so close to be revealed as harmful. He looked next to him on the empty space of his messy mattress, imagining your figure laying next to him, and then he began to realize that  _this_ would be the feeling when you would die. 

He didn't want  _silence._ He wanted  _your_ silence.

The winter sun had come out from hiding and tossed silver flecks against the glass of his window. He could see the smatter of stars hiding behind the high, morning clouds, and he closed his eyes, feeling the drift of a needy fringe of sleep. But he couldn't bring himself into that sweet relief of rest, not while his soul twisted and churned at the thought of you. 

Sans continued to watch as the sun rose behind the clouds and mountains, and when it was full and round in the sky, he decided to swing his legs off the sides of his mattress, and scuffled his feet against the floor and to the living room. 

Papyrus wasn't awake yet. Why would he at six in the morning? Maybe he could leave a note for Papyrus, saying that he's out for a walk, or maybe even next door to profusely apologize to you, and beg for your forgiveness. That idea was already set and glued in his mind. There was no excuse to  _not_ beg for your forgiveness. 

He swung the door open, only to cast his eyes down to the floor and see two paper flowers, in the shape of orange and blue tulips. He reached down for them instantly, reading Papyrus's first. 

**hi! sorry for not staying longer last night. i felt tired.**

**i'm so happy you went on the date with mettaton. you seemed really happy.**

**you have to tell me how it went. i'll be in the hospital for about a week for my treatment.**

**come talk to me then. keep me company.**

He felt so sick, so terrible, his guilt was just  _devouring him._  

Sans was so reluctant to read the message you left for him. Your handwriting was more spidery, more scribbled than composed in this flower.

**i'm sorry that i made you upset. i hope you know i didn't mean it.**

**i should've been more considerate towards you. but papyrus is happy, right?**

**i hope he is. i'll try to be more helpful after this.**

**if you want to talk, you know where i am. won't be going too far for now on.**

He held the flower tightly in his palm until the paper began to crumple, and until the black ink of your handwriting was unreadable. Did you realize what you wrote? Was this on purpose, to make him feel shittier than he did? Of course, if you did then he wouldn't complain. After all, he would take anything as punishment. But just as you weren't the person to get angry, you also weren't the type to simply put passive aggressive notes around, or show an attitude. 

Sans shoved the blue flower in his pocket, but placed the orange one on the counter for Papyrus to read. 

And he ran out the door. 

* * *

The nurse flicked the IV tube that was in your chest, and you winced at the stinging needle. There were two IVs; one attached just a little above your breasts, and one attached to the vibrant veins of your arms. You brought your four bottles of pills and placed them on your lap, and you reclined against the upright bed, eyes closed and breath soft and shuddering. 

"I'm sorry, dear," the middle-aged woman cooed. "I know it hurts. Just be patient for a little while longer. Would you like some relief for your pain?" 

Translation:  _"Do you want me to stick another damn needle in your body?"_

You shook your head. "No. I'll be fine, I can deal with it. Sometimes the pain goes away a little when I think of mothers in labor, all those cramps and contractions, only to push a watermelon-sized object out of your body. Then I start to feel nothing at all." 

The nurse laughed and stroked the back of your hand. "As a mother of two children, I must say I have to agree with that." After, she pulled her gloves off, and tossed them in the wastebasket. "If you need anything, dear, I'm just one button away." 

You nodded, and the nurse left, shutting the door and leaving you on the bed, hearing the too-recognizable sound of the IV dripping. You closed your eyes and groaned from the pain, from the aches that began to surge through your body. Did the chemo really kick in this fast the last time? 

Or, you thought, it was your lack of sleep. Or the constant thought of Sans that made your heart clench, and your eyes swell with tears. You closed your eyes in hopes to rid of the imminent waterworks.

You took partial blame for the argument, but it also pained you to realize that Sans sincerely  _thought_ that you would be more useful when you're in a  _hospital bed._ Despite the fact that he hurt you, you couldn't be angry. It took too much energy, you had other things to worry about than being angry for a small argument. Even though you would not forgive him for a little while, at least it was better than snap back at him with bristling anger. 

But maybe, just maybe, he didn't mean it. Maybe he was just angry, and it slipped from his mouth, desperately wanting to prove his point and to get you to shut up. It was a very conceivable idea, and you preferred that side of the story rather than the other. But only time can sort things out. 

Well, in this case, only  _you_ and  _Sans_ can work this out. 

There was a light knock on the door, a knock that you could barely perceive from your clouded mind of thoughts and pain. You mumbled a response, wondering if the person on the other end could hear. But you didn't hear the door open, and cracking your eyes open, you saw a shade of blue that was too prosaic for your liking. 

You turned your head to see him. He looked so awkward, so worried, so... so  _defeated_ by just standing there. 

"Hey." 

"hey." 

The room became stuffy. You fought to control your shallow breaths. 

"i, uh," he muttered. Then, he extended his arms to offer you a stuffed brown bear with an orange ribbon wrapped around its neck. It wore a white shirt that said,  _"Screw leukemia!"_ You wanted to smile at it. "i got you this..." 

You took the stuffed animal and stroked the woolly fur. "Thank you." 

It pained him to see you in such a state. He was probably making it worse. 

"so, um," Sans shifted and put his hands in his pockets. He began to sweat. "it's a nice day out. hope it doesn't go down in  _vein._ " 

Your mouth twitched in an attempt of a tight-lipped smile. Sans felt some sort of accomplishment. 

So, he continued. "yeah. probably the weather will have a change of  _heart_ later." 

This time, you suppressed a snort, and a rolling of your eyes. 

"i thought i saw a guy being rolled down the halls just now," he went on. "man, his entire left side was cut off. he's all  _right_ now, i think." 

Finally, you gave in and scoffed at his jokes. He felt a warmth wash over him at the sight of your smile, albeit weak and uncertain, and he was happy, so  _happy_ that you weren't giving him the silent treatment. 

"please, (y/n)," his voice lowered. "can we talk?" 

He didn't even give you a chance to answer. He sat at the edge of your bed and took your hands in his, and squeezed them. You didn't return the gesture. 

"i'm so sorry," his words flowed like a stream of smoke. "i'm so sorry, (y/n), this was my fault. all my fault. you can't be going on thinking that this was part of your fault, when it  _wasn't._ i... i shouldn't have yelled at you like that, not while you were only trying to help. no, you didn't try, you  _did_ help. a lot. pap wouldn't stop talking about that date last night, and i thought i began to see stars in his eyes. (y/n), that was  _your_ doing, and that's  _only_ your doing. a-and... i don't think i can ever forgive myself for calling you..." he almost choked on his words. He couldn't bring himself to say it. 

"please," he decided to push it in the back of his mind. "please, please forgive me, (y/n). i'll do anything for you,  _anything._ i don't think i can forgive myself for this. i mean, how could i? you're the complete opposite of..." a bitter laugh, followed by a gap of silence. Again, he couldn't find the strength to say that word. "you brighten our lives up, you're always trying to do something to help, and you're always,  _always_ smiling, and going on a night without your smile is complete torture. hell, going on a few hours knowing that i hurt you is more than torture. please forgive me, (y/n), i'll do  _anything_ for you. just forgive me. please..." 

His voice was desperate, frantic, and sorrowful. 

What was the appropriate response for this? 

You saw how his nonexistent eyebrows knitted, how sweat beaded on his skull, and how his hands were trembling when he held yours. You squeezed them, hoping to calm him. 

"Sans," you whispered, the pain of the treatment slowly kicking in. You tried not to flinch. "you really did hurt me. For a moment, after you said it, I wondered if all the things I've done for you and Papyrus and Toriel were for nothing. But I know you, Sans," you saw him take your hands and gave them a toothy kiss. "and I know you didn't mean what you said. But... I can't forgive you. Not yet. Honestly, I'm still in a state of shock that we actually had our first fight. Relationship goals, huh?" 

You chuckled, and moaned softly, trying to move to find a comfortable position on the bed. Sans reached over to try to help, but you shook your head. 

"how can i get you to forgive me?" he asked, voice quivering, as if it were a child's voice after a nightmare. "what can i do? please, tell me." 

He took your hands again and nuzzled against them, and you wondered if those were tears that you felt on the back of your palms. You slipped your hand away from him and instead ran your open palm over the top and the back of his skull. 

"You can start by forgiving yourself." 

He earnestly looked at you, wondering how you could be so caring, so committed, so open and easy to talk with. And _he_ , he just  _shot you down_ that night. 

"i..." he looked down. "i don't know how, (y/n)." 

"Then find a way," you whispered again, and when he looked back up to you, you finally smiled at him. He felt that he was going to burst into a sobbing, blubbering mess. "Recognize your faults. Remember them, and accept that what you did was wrong. After you take the first step of acceptance, then everything else will come naturally." 

He shook his head. "i'll still regret it." 

"Regret and forgiveness are two different things," you said. "It's okay to regret something after you forgive yourself. It's okay to be sad afterwards. It's even okay to be angry at yourself. But it all comes down to acknowledgement, and the realization of your actions." 

You continued to stroke him, and he sighed. 

"how... how are you so amazing?" he sputtered. "how could i ever call you useless?" 

"Anger makes us do and say a lot of things we don't mean. But you have to deal with your anger with tenderness, and with care. And you have to let it happen, because anger is just part of nature. When you let yourself be angry, when you keep check with your own feelings. Then forgiveness prevails once you've trailed that path." 

There it was. 

The substance, the articulated pitch of your words. 

"thank you," he declared. "thank you, (y/n). i promise, i  _swear_ i'll make it up to you. i... i won't hurt you like that again, okay? please, please believe me." 

His words just continued to spill like powder. 

"I believe you, Sans." 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! so i'm very sorry for the delay. my laptop was crapping out, and i've been struggling a little how to write this next chapter. but my computer's a-okay now.  
> and oh my god. 10k hits? y'all are gonna make me cry. <3

It was no lie that you were still a little upset, and you weren't sure if it was the fact that he straight up said that you would be better off dying on a hospital bed. Maybe it was how he was beating himself up for it, or how guilty he felt, how he sobbed against you from the clarity of his words. But he took such good care of you over the next couple days. He tended to your every need. He helped you sit up from the bed to use the bathroom, or he handed you the bucket so you could hurl and gag over it. 

He would run his hand up and down your back, slowly around in circles, and he when he watched you wipe your mouth with a napkin and close your eyes, drifting your head against the wall, he suddenly recalled the story between Life and Death you once told him. He remembered clearly that he enjoyed your story, and it was a great concept for children to understand. Sans began to think of you like a canvas, a beautiful painting that Life was working on so diligently. But Life was clumsy sometimes, and she accidentally spilled some red paint across the middle of the painting. Death didn't want Life to feel bad, so he was slowly comforting her, and coercing her to give it to him to keep just so she wouldn't feel so terrible. 

Sans could almost see Death's bony hands reaching for the canvas. And Sans could sense that Death was about to keep it. 

"how're you holding up, doll?" His voice was gravelly and genuine, but there was a dimness behind it that reminded you of shame. 

"Well," you sighed. "I'm still alive. I still have two arms, two legs, a nose, eyes, and a mouth. Guess you can say I'm doing _pretty_ swell." 

Even when your body kicked you, you still found a way to keep the atmosphere light and wispy. But his agitated mind worked in relentless circles, circles that came back with no answers. Why were you still smiling with him? Why did you still hold him? He wanted you to show some sort of anger, some sort of emotion that wasn't  _love_ , maybe to show that you were actually  _human._  

"hey," he whispered, voice desperate. "why... why are you like this?" 

"Like what?" 

"why are you talking like nothing has happened?" he quipped. "to  _patella_ the truth, i'm completely lost here." 

You had to crack a grin at his pun.

"This beautiful world we live in is molded by many things. But there are two main ingredients—the stories we have created, and the memories we leave behind. And I can see it. I can see you lay down at night, in a dark room, and you will remember. You will remember me, the times we've shared laughs, the times we've cried, and the times we've kissed. And you will want to remember that, not the times where I'm angry, or cried, or the times where I'm hurt because of a little fight." 

You felt your stomach churn, your eyes were burning, and your head was pounding. The second round of chemo was worse than you expected. 

"I like to think of memories as presents. Some may be wanted, some may be unwanted. And when we receive them, we tear the paper and hold it in our hands, eyes glowing with nostalgia. But sometimes when we receive them, we're unable to unwrap them, not wanting the memory to find a place in our mind. So, what do we do with presents we don't want? We put it away somewhere where it can't be found. And sometimes, we remember that it's there, and we're stuck with the feeling of distaste." You placed the bucket down on the side of the hospital bed. "This little fight, Sans? It's not worth being angry or sad over. Granted, I'm a little upset. But I'm too tired. I'm too sick to fight back. And your conscious must still feel guilty about this, aren't you?"

"yeah," he nodded, hit with the precision of your analogy. "i am. s'funny how obvious i make these things." 

You shook your head. "No. I just know you."

* * *

Your fingers were cold and lovely. He couldn't stop staring at them.

"When is the wedding?" you asked him as you laid in your own bed at home. A week had passed and you were sent home, but the symptoms haven't gone away. You had a knitted hat over your head, and a wool blanket wrapped around your body. But you still ached, you still shivered. The breathing tubes did no longer did much help for your breathing, you noticed, but it was doable. 

And yet Sans found still saw you as the most beautiful woman in the world. 

"they want to schedule it as soon as you feel better," he was laying next to you, laying on his stomach and draping his arm over the middle of your stomach. You could feel his breath tickle your collarbone. "they're willing to wait." 

You frowned. "Why would they schedule according to my health?" 

"huh, i dunno," he shrugged, voice heavy with sarcasm. "maybe 'cuz they want you to be there?" 

"Okay,  _smartass,_ " you snorted. "but it doesn't matter if I'm feeling well or not, sunshine or rain, I  _will_ go to their wedding, and since  _they're_ the ones wearing the dresses and kissing in front of the altar, then they should be the one choosing the time over what's comfortable for themselves. I should have nothing to do with it." 

Sans opened his mouth to protest, wanting to say that you have  _almost everything_ to do with their lives, but he knew that you would have none of it. He could only let his smile widen as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, and then pressed it against your ear.

"uh, sweetheart? what're y—"

" _Shh._ " 

He suppressed a chuckle, and watched your expression and movements. 

"Hey, Undyne! I just came home from the hospital... Mhm. Yeah... Yeah, I know. Hey, quick question: when's the wedding?" 

When there was silence, he continued to observe your facial features, how they contorted with your speech and how they changed when he heard Undyne's muffled voice through the speakers. This time, Sans actually laughed softly. 

"Yeah, well, I'm feeling just  _great_ now. Since you guys have everything ready, why don't you get married in about a week? Don't keep pushing it off for the sake of me." Your eyebrows would've furrowed if they were there. You wet your lips, and opened your mouth to respond. "Really, Undyne? You're gonna deny the wish from a girl with cancer? Shameful, so shameful. You getting cold feet now?" 

Sans could hear the yells of Undyne through, and you pulled your phone away from your ear. You covered your mouth to stifle laughs as Undyne rambled on loudly about how she wasn't afraid, and she was prepared to marry the  _hell_ out of Alphys, and that she was surprised that you, out of all people, denied her strength. That really wasn't your intention, but either way, your banters worked. 

"Great, well," you sighed. "shoot me the address whenever you can... Wait, no. Please don't shoot me. That was a figure of speech. Please don't be mad... Undyne?" 

The line was dead. 

"that went better than expected. thank god she's not a butcher, 'cuz then you'd be telling her not to _halve a cow._ " said Sans, and you gave another snort, tossing your phone back on the nightstand, and crawling under the covers, even with the extra wool blanket wrapped around your body. 

"That was terrible, Sans. So terrible." 

He moved so he was laying on his side, and he let his head go limp against your shoulder. 

"you love my jokes." 

"Unfortunately, I do." 

"so, when's the wedding?" 

"Well, hopefully it'll be in a week," you murmured below the blankets. He laughed and ran his hands up and down your body, hoping that some sort of friction would aid you. "if not, then I'll call Alphys instead. She's more apt to listen." 

"yeah, but knowing her, she'd be too embarrassed to bring up the subject of the wedding date to undyne." 

"True," you nodded, and he shifted once again so this time he was laying next to you, his eyes locking to yours. "but you gotta admit that they're adorable. And I'm sure they're gonna make a very happy couple in the future." 

You smiled at him, your eyes squinting at the corners, and he noticed the slight, almost unnoticeable discoloration of your teeth, another side effect he presumed from the chemo. He fixed your nasal cannula that was slipping off from behind your ears, and he brushed his mouth against your forehead as a toothy kiss. 

"you're beautiful, (y/n)," he mumbled. "so beautiful. it's like i can't feel my  _lungs_ whenever i see you." 

Such a romantic. 

But you tried to hide a blush by moving under the covers, pulling the blankets over your head. Sans snorted. 

"aw, doll, don't hide from me," he chuckled, trying to pry the covers away from you. "c'mon, lemme see you're  _adorkable_ face." 

"Oh my god, shut up." 

But you succumbed into laughter when he finally pulled the covers off, and he saw how your nasal cannula was messed up again, and your hat was falling off from your head. His smile widened further, up to a point where he thought his cheekbones were going to crack. He took your hands and squeezed them in his, feeling the soft texture of your skin, and he felt so warm, so  _loving._  

Your hurt expression flashed in his mind again from that night, and he didn't dare to hide that imperceptible shiver that surged through his bones. 

"how did i get so lucky?" he asked, moving your hat down to where it almost fell over your eyes. "how... did i get so lucky to have such a wonderful, such a forgiving girl like you?" 

You didn't respond immediately. Instead, you took his face in your hands, and firmly kissed him. He felt how your lips were so dry, so cold, but they were yours, and yours alone, and it made his very being soar. 

"Because it's not luck. It's fate." 

* * *

You weren't healthy enough to ride in an airplane. It was a fact, not an assumption. 

Holding your journal in your hands, you crossed out the seventh item on your list. It was impossible for you to ride in first class, with all that oxygen lacking in your lungs, and your fatigue, and not to mention the shivers and fevers you'd receive more often than you'd prefer. 

You felt that you should replace it, but with what? You have almost everything you could ask for. You only had a couple more things to cross off, and then you'll be set. You can go in peace, knowing that you have fulfilled your wishes, and perhaps you could go in peace, knowing that you were surrounded by your loving friends. 

Tapping the pen against your journal, you sighed, looking over to Sans next to you as he snored. You smiled at your handsome skeleton, pulling the covers over his body, and he moved, grumbling under his sleep-induced voice. 

You thought of Toriel and Frisk, Papyrus and Sans, Undyne and Alphys, and you felt your eyes tear up at the thought of dying, knowing how much they'd grieve over your death. Quickly, you wiped your eyes in hopes to stop this nonsense of crying. 

You could almost feel the gears turning and twisting in your head. Maybe, you concluded, that you shouldn't add an extra wish. Maybe you should keep it simple and leave it as that. But your heart told you otherwise, and not wanting to go to sleep thinking about what to add to your damn bucket list, you began to write. 

    7.   ~~ **Fly in first class.**~~ **Look out for everyone, even after my death.**

You looked over it a few times, to a point where you stared at the words and thought if those word even  _looked_ real. 

Somehow, with the sincerity of the wish, the complexity of it, you found yourself content with it. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, guys! i've been struggling to write for a while.  
> y'all might wanna start getting more tissues after this chapter. prepare yourselves. <3  
> I ALSO RECEIVED SOME AMAZING FANART. it's by KaithlynFireBreather, and i'm gonna cry.  
> http://smallybells.tumblr.com/post/140191143068/smallybells-i-just-received-this-absolutely

It was a clear, calm night with the moonlight shining through the branches. You saw how the snow was wrapped around this earth like an oversized sweater, and how the streetlights flickered, sputtered, and burned out. You could see the branches twitched as snow swirled. Snow devils, you liked to call them. Wind-churned funnels of powdery snow just like tornadoes, and they continued to grow larger and larger, and you wondered—feared, even. The moon disappeared, the street darkened, and the windows creaked. 

You closed the blinds. 

You felt a finger tap your shoulder, and you turned, tightening the blanket around your body tighter when you saw Sans. He held a cup of hot cocoa in his hand with a candy cane inside. You smiled, reaching for the mug. It burned your hands, but you pretended you couldn't feel it. 

"Thank you," you whispered, voice hoarse. It seemed that your voice weakened after each day. "Leftover Christmas candy, huh?

"what can i say?" he sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around you. He nuzzled against your cheek. "i  _cane_ only make the best of things." 

You grinned. "That you can." 

He sighed against you, and just as he was about to make himself comfortable, you held his arm. 

"Wait," you began. "can you do me a quick favor?" 

He looked at you, and took a second before he nodded. "anything for you, sweetheart." 

"Go in my closet. You'll see a small box with two things in it, both of them wrapped in blue paper. Can you take them out for me?" 

"uh, sure." 

He grunted a little as he got up, mumbling something about his 'old bones aching,' and you couldn't help but snort. He fumbled around in your closet, and you were afraid that he would stumble so much that boxes would tumble on top of him, but you could hear the shuffling of his slippers, and he sat down next to you. 

"these things here?" he nudged them against you. You nodded. 

"Open them." 

"wait—" he pulled them back. "these are for me?"

"They've been collecting dust for a long time," you sighed. "for, like, four months? Almost five, maybe. So, yeah. Open them." 

The tips of his phalanges hesitantly toyed with the blue paper, until he tore open the first present, revealing the mug in the shape of a skull. He observed it, and you could see how his eyes squinted, his smile broadening. 

"oh, man, this is... this is so nice of you," he said in one breath. "i betcha  _no body_ has this, huh?" 

You pushed his arm with whatever strength you had left. He laughed, and leaned forwards in attempts to kiss you. But he missed, and you felt your nose tight against his teeth. You couldn't help but laugh. 

"C'mon, open the next one." you said after pulling away. He tore the next present urgently, and chuckled when he saw it. 

"a prank kit? am i that easy to tease, huh?" 

"Don't be a  _numbskull_ , Sans. You love it." 

"i do. i really do." 

You kissed his cheek. 

He hummed and leaned against you, careful with your mug of cocoa. You could feel it cool in your hands. 

You could practically see Sans glowing as the paper and gifts laid limp next to him. You felt warmth in your heart, and tears swell in your eyes. 

You sipped your cocoa. 

It burned the roof of your mouth. 

You had three weeks, four days, nine hours, seventeen minutes, and fifty-three seconds until your death. 

But you didn't know that. 

* * *

The wedding was tomorrow. 

You felt dizzy. You felt breathless. You felt weak. 

However, you couldn't tell that to Sans. At least you could pull through the wedding. Then, you could tell him how you felt. You wouldn't dare miss their wedding. Not even your own death could stand in the way. 

You were in bed again, your knitted hat snug around atop your head, and extra blankets were piled on top of you. Strange. You didn't realize that you felt that cold. You closed your eyes, bones trembling, and you tried to pull the blankets tighter around you. You heard Sans crawl next to you, and despite the stiffness of your joints, you turned to face him. 

"Hi." 

"hey." 

He moved under the covers with you, and held you tightly. He didn't want to let go. 

"you okay, doll?" 

You nodded. "Mhm. Just tired." 

He ran his hands up and down your arms. His voice was solemn. "you're cold." 

"I know." 

You breathed against him. He smelled like ketchup, grease, and something else that was so distinctive to him only. You knew you would miss that smell. 

"Hey... Sans?" you asked. You heard your voice cracked, and you tried not to flinch on how diminutive you sounded, how weak you felt. "Can you do me another favor?" 

He gave you a toothy kiss on your forehead. "who am i to deny ya?" 

The room was quiet, apart from the whirling of your oxygen tank. You shuddered slightly. 

"Remember me." 

He gave you a sort of look that asked,  _'what kind of favor is that?'_

"heh. it's impossible enough already to forget your words. what makes ya think i'll easily forget all about you, huh?" 

"I know you won't forget about me. But it's... a reminder, I guess. I... I need you to do a lot after you die," you laughed softly. "Looks like I'll still be putting you to work, even when I'm six feet under." 

"i'll be looking forward to that." 

"I worry for you, Sans," you whispered. "I worry for you after I'm gone. What will you do for the rest of your days? Will you spend them trying to remember me, or forget me? Will you spend them trying to run towards the memories, or try to get away from them? I don't know, Sans, and I'm sure you don't either. Even if you say you will be fine, even if you will always be sad, I can't help but wonder.

"When I leave this world, and you're left with a tormented mind, you will want to forget. But when I leave this world, and you're left with a broken heart, you will always want to remember me. And I can't decide which one is more bitter. But please, Sans,  _please,_ " you were begging now. Your lip quivered. "remember how to breathe. Please remember how to live. Without that, how can you do so much as to remember my words, how can you remember my smile? How can you remember me _?_ " 

You were crying now, and you didn't even realize it. "I can see it, Sans. It's so clear. Every night, you will be in bed. Every night, you will think of me, and you will miss me. You will think of me, and you will hate me. You will think of me more than you think you are willing. And yet you will still love me... right? There's going to be a part of you that will remember the little things about us, the few times we've spent laughing nonstop, or poking fun at each other. And I feel so bad, so  _terrible,_ that I came into your life, and... I'm so grateful. I fear that the candle I've lit in your life has become so large that you have no choice but to smother it out." 

You felt him cup your cheeks, and his thumbs ran over your tears. You finally blinked, and your face scrunched, succumbing into sobs. 

"I don't want to die, Sans," you whimpered, burying your face in the sheets. "I'm not afraid of death, but I'm afraid for the what will happen after. And I'm so scared, Sans. I'm so scared. I'm so scared." 

He tried to open his mouth and respond, but he couldn't find the right words. When could he ever? 

"i'm so sorry, (y/n)," he shook. "i'm so sorry..."

"I'm scared. I'm so scared, Sans. Please... please..." 

You didn't know what you were begging for.

That was the last night you cried.

* * *

The wedding lasted eight minutes and sixteen seconds. 

You expected a priest when you arrived, but you saw King Asgore. You expected a long, boring speech. You heard,  _"Do you promise to love each other? You may kiss."_ You expected Undyne and Alphys to toss the bouquet of flowers behind them towards an expected crowd, but instead they tossed it to the ground, and stomped all over them. 

This... certainly was not a human wedding reception, was it? Of course, it was inside a church. Asgore spoke simple words, Alphys and Undyne kissed longer than they should have—which caused Toriel to clamp her paws over Frisk's eyes—and their wedding dresses were absolutely  _stunning._  But the entire time you watched, the more difficult it became to focus. You thought, albeit gingerly, that you could go home early and rest.

But you finally met Mettaton, the flamboyant, eccentric robot that Papyrus had fell hard for. He graciously shook your hand, and twirled you around. 

"Oh, it's  _so_ nice to meet you! Papy-Darling has told me  _plenty_ about you. You were the one that told Papy to bravely confront me, yes?" 

You turned and gave Papyrus a look. An orange blush rose to his cheekbones. "M-METTATON, YOU DON'T HAVE TO—"

"I  _must_ , darling, I  _must._ I must thank this human with all of my heart! Ah, well, soul! Same difference. But human, if it weren't for you telling Papyrus to declare his love for me, we wouldn't be together! I am forever in your debt, dear (Y/N). Surely Papy has told you what he said?" 

You rose an eyebrow at the tall skeleton, and managed to smirk. "Well, he may have left a couple details out, but yeah. He's told me," you turned your gaze to the both of them, and took one of Papyrus's hands, and one of Mettaton's. "but such good luck to you two. Please, treat each other well. And such good luck." 

You were glad that they didn't take note of the sadness in your voice. 

Then, you turned to see Asgore, Frisk, and Toriel. Asgore had a certain appearance on his face, a look that was eager to please, to make up for lost time. But Toriel did not mock the look, instead she forbade it, and frowned deeply. 

You leaned against one of the columns inside the church, and you slowly inhaled, and exhaled, tightening your hold of the oxygen tank handle. Maybe you could speak with her later. Maybe when you get home, maybe when you would rest a little more. 

Everything seemed like a blur, from Toriel and Asgore speaking, from Frisk looking left and right, from how Mettaton virtuously flirted with Papyrus, how flocks of monsters huddled around Undyne to admire her strength, and other flocks surrounding Alphys, admiring her beauty and modesty. 

Then, there was Sans. Was he in front of you? Far away from you? Was he even looking at you? You heard him call your name, and you were reeling. You felt limp against the column. 

"S-Sans...?" you managed to choke out. Your chest tightened. Why was it so hard to breathe? 

You saw Toriel run up to you. Or was it Asgore? Maybe... Maybe it was a very fuzzy Papyrus. 

You felt him grasp your shoulders, and you could hear muffled yells, screams. You felt something wet drip from your nose and to your mouth, and someone reached out to wipe it out, only to see their hand stained with red. 

"I... I can see th-the... flowers..." you stuttered. "I can see the words..."

The blurred world you saw was snuffed into darkness.


	22. Chapter 22

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't focus. How many times had Toriel walked up to him, beckoning him to get some fresh air? A lot. How many times had Papyrus tried to snap Sans out from his trance? A few times. How many times had Frisk tug on his shoulder, their eyes swimming with worry? Too many to count on his hands. 

You wouldn't wake up. 

Doctors said it was some sort of swelling in your liver or spleen, some blood clots scattered around. 

But he was too tired to listen.

He watched you as you laid in bed. Cold, pale, almost lifeless. He saw how pale your lips were, how the bags under your eyes darkened, how your breathing was shallow and hesitant, as if your lungs were hanging onto the final threads. 

Sans felt hollow. 

* * *

You woke up a couple days later, coughing and shuddering for air, and doctors rushed in like a swarm of ants, stabilizing the oxygen supply, and you were frightened, seeing masked faces hovering over you, and you didn't know why, but you wanted to cry. 

Some doctors were talking to you, asking you questions, but all you could do was nod. You felt like someone who stood up too fast and everything spun in their vision. Except, this feeling didn't go away in a few seconds. It remained there, and your head pounded, and you felt  _weak_ , you felt so  _tired._

You weren't sure how much longer it was until you saw Sans walk in the room. Through your half-lidded eyes, you took in his figure, and you smiled, and spoke, your voice hoarse. 

"Come here." 

He felt his soul sink. 

You used the rest of your strength to reach out for his hand, and he took it, squeezing it to a point where it almost pained you. But you didn't care. 

"how're you feelin'?" 

"I'm doing pretty swell, Sans," you whispered with a grin. "And yourself?" 

He tried to force a laugh. "better now that you're up, doll." 

Both of you lied. 

He stared at you, and for a minute you thought how lifeless, how drained his eyes seemed, how the white of his irises fade into the darkness of the sockets, and how his smile seemed to be slowly falling each second. 

"Sans," you spoke quietly. Your throat felt dry, you felt _dead._  "You know what's coming."

He nodded.

"Are you ready?"

He shook his head.

You smiled sadly, and pulled his arm closer to you, letting the back of his hand brush against your cheek. It felt cold.

"Neither am I."  

* * *

The doctor had Sans leave the room when he came in. It seemed that he, too, was deteriorating. Old age, it seemed. The doctor seemed regretful, seemed so sad and reluctant. He sat down at the edge of the bed, and smiled at you, the smile that only elderly people give, the smile that would melt hearts. 

"How are you feeling, (Y/N)?" 

You croaked out a laugh. "Is that the only question you're able to ask?" 

He managed a small chuckle, and looked down on the bed sheets. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he sighed. "And... I'm sorry that I cannot do anything else for you." 

 You could only nod against the pillow, and you laid your head back, closing your eyes and breathing through your mouth. 

"Doctor," you said. "I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be. I've faced the fact that I will die long ago, but that doesn't mean that I'm prepared. But I have lived. I've lived a nice life, and I've made people happy. My friends have made me happy. I think that's enough to hold onto when I give my last breath." 

You saw how his smile faltered, how his eyes misted, and you began to think how many times he had to say goodbye to his patients, how many times he had the heaviness in his throat when telling them that there's nothing else he could do. 

"We'll be sending you home," his voice tumbled and fell, spilling onto the ground like powder. "At the most, you'll be able to... live..." he tried not to falter. He took a deep breath. "At most, you'll live for about three weeks. Give or take." 

You nodded. 

"Thank you, Doctor Corey." 

* * *

You were sent home three days later. The first thing you wanted to do was to find Undyne and Alphys, to apologize for fainting and causing a scene on their wedding day, but you found out that they left for their honeymoon just a couple days prior. 

Instead, you settled yourself on your bed, Sans wrapping layers of blankets around you, and he climbed in next to you. He held you close. 

"i love you, (y/n)." 

He spoke with such sincerity, with such emotion. 

"I love you, too." 

He held you tighter. "maybe... maybe nothing will happen," he said. He was lying to himself. "maybe you can live a little longer." 

You tried not to cry. "Miracles always seem to pass me, Sans. They fly right over me, around me, or under me. I learned that some... some being out there just wants me to leave this earth, and refuses to send some help." 

He leaned in and kissed your cheek. You felt a shuddering sigh against your skin, a conversation of goosebumps surging on your skin. 

"for now," he began. "i'll keep you warm. for now, i'll keep you safe. i'll make sure you're happy." 

You felt yourself drifting to a deep sleep. "Maybe I don't want to be safe. Maybe I don't want to be warm or happy. I just want to live." 

* * *

He watched as you sat up in bed, your bandanna laying on your lap, and your eyes locked towards the colored paper you were working with. Folded, cut, glued, taped, and trying so hard to smooth the edges. 

Deep inside, he knew why you were making flowers.

Then, you grabbed a pen and scribbled some words. 

"what are you writing?" Sans would ask. You smiled. 

"You'll see." 

Your response didn't seem as positive as you tried to make it out to be. 

He was a little scared.

* * *

You were laying down, as you did as of lately, and breathed heavily. Your heart stung your chest, you felt your vision blacking out. 

But it would only last for a few seconds. 

Then, your breathing would return to normal. Your sight would be clear. And Sans would be holding your hand tightly. 

"Sans," you murmured. "can you rummage through my closet? You'll find an empty sketchbook and an old camera." 

He nodded at your request, entering your closet and searching for the desired items. He found a dusty, leather bound sketchbook, and a Polaroid camera that your father had given you when you were young. Carrying them in his hands, he knelt back down beside your bed, and handed them to you. 

He watched you with curiosity, how you checked the camera, and in an instant he saw a flash, and he blinked, watching how your lips curved into a smile, exposing your teeth that was yellowing just slightly. 

"Perfect," you laughed, taking the film out and waving it back and forth. "Now, I need another favor. I need you to take pictures of everyone. Toriel, Frisk, Papyrus, maybe Mettaton if you can find him. Take some of Undyne and Alphys whenever they come back. I'm... sorry that it's a lot." 

Why were you sorry? 

He'd walk on  _lava_ if it meant keeping you alive. 

"sounds fun," he chuckled. "i can get this done in a  _flash._ " 

You laughed, trying not to cough or wheeze. 

"Don't  _exposure_ yourself too much." 

* * *

Undyne and Alphys came back from their honeymoon almost two days later. They visited you first thing in the morning, walking through your door, bursting with happiness and excitement. 

You hugged them, listening to them speak about their adventures at Hawaii, and how romantic it was to walk along the beaches at night. Part of you wished you were there to witness it. 

Then, you began to apologize profusely, but they wouldn't have it. It wasn't your fault. 

As they walked out, you heard Alphys whisper softly: 

"I'll miss her..." 

"I know." Undyne responded. 

You'll miss them, too. 

* * *

The collection of pictures Sans took was scattered on your comforter. You laughed at each one, from Papyrus cooking with his pink apron, to Mettaton posing dramatically with Frisk by his side, mimicking him. From Toriel's shocked expression from the flash, to Frisk's blank expression. From Undyne flexing her muscles, to Alphys covering her face, only to have the next picture with both of them arm in arm, grinning, and you couldn't help but grin in return.

"Thank you, Sans," you said, gathering the pictures. "but we're missing one more."

"i got everyone, though." he shrugged.  

"Everyone but us two together," you smiled. "Here, help me. Turn the camera and extend your arm out, so it's getting both of us together." 

"why do i have to do it?"

You scoffed. "Because I said so."

"okay, okay. so, what do i have to do again?" he teased. 

"Press the button when the camera turns towa—"

The camera flashed. The film slid out. 

Sans took it out and copied you from before, waving it back and forth until the picture comes in view. 

He had his usual smile. Your mouth was open and your eyes were half-lidded. 

You burst out laughing. 

"Beautiful. So beautiful." 

"we gotta keep this one." 

You added it to the collection, and looked down at the pile, sorting them in whichever order you'd like them to be, and from the corner of your eye you saw another flash. Blinking, you turned your head to Sans, who was already shaking the film. 

"gotta add the last one to the pile." 

* * *

Days passed where the sun rose, the clouds carried heavy rain, and night swept its dark gown against the sky, the stars being its children and the moon its lover. 

But once those days passed, you were hanging onto the last of the ropes. 

"Sans..." the name came like a whisper from your cold lips. He was at your side, hands holding one of yours, his phalanges stroking the skin that was colored with purple and black bruises. "Sans...?" There was his name, only a little louder, a little bolder. 

"yeah, sweetheart?" he said. He was so hurt. He was so scared. "i'm here. i'm right here." 

"Sans," his name was like a prayer, like how one would pray before their death. "I... I want..." you struggled. "I want... to see the stars..." 

He nodded. "y-yeah? here, i'll open the blinds," he almost ran to the window, pulling the blinds open, and looking out to the open. "here. you... can see them, right? you can see them from there? i can help you move if you want." 

"No," you uttered throatily. "not... those stars..." 

He froze in place. 

"you mean... waterfall?" 

You closed your eyes and nodded. 

"I want to see them... again. I... want to see the flowers." 

"(y/n), it's late," it hurt him. It hurt him so much. "it's snowing. it won't be safe." 

"I want to, Sans," you breathed. "I want to see Waterfall." 

He can't. He shouldn't. 

He really shouldn't. 

You'd be cold. You'd be shivering. You were already in terrible condition. 

"okay." 

You felt so weak, so limp, but you reached up to take out the nose cannulas, breathing freely, yet feeling that tight restraint in your lungs. Sans almost stopped you. 

But he didn't. 

And he carried you, teleporting in an instant to the same location you two went on your vacation, your  _date._  

This time, you felt like you were going to throw up. 

But you didn't. 

Your eyes were closed the entire time, too tired and too heavy to open. But he stroked your cheek, and you tried to open them, only to find a blurred figure of Sans when he carried you in your arms, and the faint glow of stones on the ceiling. 

You wanted to reach out and touch them. 

But you couldn't. 

You were still curled up in his arms as he knelt down on the floor, your clothes heavy, body wracking with tremors. 

"Sans...?" you muttered. "Are... we here...?" 

He hummed. "yeah... w-we're here, sweetheart." 

You squinted a little. "I... can't see them well..." 

Sans shook his head. "it's okay. they can see you just fine." 

You could smell him. The grease. The ketchup. That other distinctive smell that on him, and on him only. 

You started to focus on the ceiling. Since when did the stars look like bits of shattered ice? 

"So pretty..." 

He continued to stroke your face. 

He didn't want to lose the memory of how soft you were. He didn't want to forget the sweet lullaby of your voice. He didn't want to forget the impact of your words. 

And yet he was there, watching your soul crack as each second passed. 

"Be... be good, Sans," you said, like a mother instructing her child. "It's... okay to be sad. To... to miss me... but... please... be good. Be good to... yourself. To... others." 

He nodded. 

"i will." 

"P-Promise?"

He nodded again.

"yeah."

You felt something hot and wet on your cheek. 

Was it raining? 

You couldn't tell. 

Your breathing labored. 

"Sans..." you shuddered. You thought you heard him sob, but was that really him? Was it another noise? "I'll... be here..." you closed your eyes. 

"doll?" 

"I'll be here..." you whispered again. "in these flowers..." you gasped. "in... in these messages... in..." 

"hey," his voice shook. He trembled. "hey, no, please... p-please, just... stay with me... just for a little more? ten seconds? fifteen? please...?"

You opened your eyes again, and to him, they looked lifeless. Black as night. Not even the glittering stones would reflect off your hues. 

"I'll be here... in your memories..." 

You heard him again, but his voice faded. You drifted, sank into the sudden warmth that enveloped your body, and like a childhood fever, it was a dreamlike sleep. It was comforting.

"...hey." he said when you closed your eyes for the last time, and a thin breath left your nose. 

"n-no," he clenched his teeth. "no, please, no. no, no, no." 

You were limp. 

"don't... don't leave... i'm not ready... please, please come back..." 

Tears fell freely from his face.

"...don't go, sybil." 

The echo flowers repeated your words.


	23. Chapter 23

He didn't go to your funeral. Not even Papyrus could shake him from his perverse daze.

Why would he want to see the coffin you laid in be lowered into the ground? 

Why would he want to see everyone around him cry? 

Why would he want to  _feel?_

Sans couldn't shake the fact that he could no longer hear the sweetness of your voice, feel the softness of your touch, or see the gentleness of your smile. He would stay in your flat, sitting on the very bed you laid, and then he would press his head against the pillow. He could barely make out the remains of your scent. And he would look around in the darkness of your apartment, where you once walked and shuffled in, where you made love for the first time, where you laughed and toyed with each other. 

For some reason, he couldn't grasp and tug his emotions any further. And he tried, oh how he  _tried_ to cry, despite his exhaustion. 

He just  _couldn't._

Your funeral was four days ago. 

You were laid next to your parents. Sans made a mental note. 

13.  ** ~~Visit mom and dad's grave one last time.~~  **

A couple knocks were hard and heavy against the door of your apartment. Or, what was left of your apartment. 

Sans didn't move. 

"Sans?" he heard a muffled voice of Toriel. "Sans... are you in here? Papyrus said you might be." 

He didn't even respond. 

"We... we haven't seen you. Not even at the funeral," her voice lowered. It almost made him feel bad. "Papyrus barely sees you, too. You know how anxious he gets..." 

Sans clenched the sheets in his hands. He heard the slight movements of her feet. 

"I know what it's like to lose someone you love, Sans. I know what death does to you... We are all like children dancing under the sun, Sans. We grow under light. But, like children, we're all a little afraid of the dark. And... we all have to learn to embrace the sunset, and to understand why the light has to go, to understand why there has to be as much darkness as there is light..." 

He was stuck frozen to the bed. 

"I'm sorry. I'm... not quite as good at this as Sybil was..." Toriel laughed a little. He could hear how the sorrow was sinking in the ranges of her voice. "I'll leave this outside in case you get hungry. But... please, Sans. Talk to us. We're all worried... Do it for us. If not for all of us, then just for Papyrus and Sybil..."

He couldn't hear her lingering presence outside the door anymore. 

When he heard the door of her own apartment shut, he pushed himself up from the bed and opened the front door. 

He wanted to truly smile. He really did. 

But he couldn't.

And he closed the door, leaving the butterscotch pie untouched. 

* * *

He continued to lay in your bed, memories dragging him down underwater. And he wasn't sure he wanted to come back up. 

When he closed his eyes, he would see your face. And sometimes he would try hard to feel your presence next to him. Smiling, he would reach his arm out to wrap it around you. 

But his arm waved in thin air. 

He would open his eyes to the darkness of your room. 

Sans rolled onto his back and stared up to the ceiling, hearing the beat of his own soul, and wished he would hear the sound of your breathing instead. 

Why? 

Just  _why?_

It's a question that's often left unanswered. But hope is draped over Sans like a veil, hoping that you would be standing beyond that sheen, and all of these dreadful days were but a nightmare. 

But he knows that the veil of hope has to be lifted. 

But _when?_  That's the true question. 

Sans turned and groaned, with eyes being fully adapted to the dark, and saw the book where he taped the pictures he took that day. He felt his bones ache. And then, Sans made another mental note. 

10\.   ** ~~Make a shitty scrapbook.~~  **

He swung his legs over the bed and put his slippers on, turning on the lamp and squinting at the infliction of light. It burned. 

Sans foot collided with a book, causing it to skid across the floor. He looked down at it, eyes still adjusting to the light, and bent down to pick it up. 

It was your journal. 

His hands trembled. 

He wanted to put it down, to tuck it under a cabinet to collect dust, but he found himself flipping through the pages of your wishlist. 

And then, a piece of paper fluttered down, rested between his feet.

He bent down again, this time sitting himself and resting his back against the wall. He took the piece of paper and unfolded it, feeling his eyes sting with what he presumed to be tears. 

**sans.**

**look in my closet. you'll find a blue box.**

**it's the only thing that's left.**

He flipped the paper to be sure there was nothing else written on the back. Sans felt a sense of wonder, wondering what you had left, finished or unfinished. 

There was no hesitation where he jumped to his feet and swung open the door of your closet, and squinting, he found a blue box as you described nestled beneath some shelves and books. He sank to his knees and pulled the box, carefully tearing the tape that held the top down, and pulling it open. 

This time, he cried.

* * *

 

Papyrus woke to see a yellow flower, in a shape of a daffodil. He yawned softly, his nonexistent eyebrows knitting in curiosity, only to have his eyes widen in realization. He took the flower, inspected the colors, the graceful petals, and then he looked inside. 

**you are one of a kind. you are the great papyrus everyone must know.**

**please continue to have a happy life with mettaton.**

**i can see how you two are meant to be.**

**work hard at moonbucks. be happy for mettaton, for sans, for _me._**

**keep being who you are.**

There was a check underneath the flower for ten grand, signed for him and Sans. 

Papyrus teared up. 

 

Toriel opened the door to find two paper flowers taped to the door, and a check for ten grand written for Toriel next to it. She read over the pink geranium with misty eyes. 

**you are a wonderful mother, toriel. to frisk, to me, to everyone.**

**use this money for frisk's education.**

**oh, and toriel?**

**give asgore another chance. poor man has puppy dog eyes for you still.**

Frisk watched as Toriel read over the message, lips trembling, and they decided to reach for the blue forget-me-not flower. 

**do not fear death, frisk. it's not scary. i now know from experience.**

**but never deny it. please remember these words.**

**stay determined to live, but never deny death.**

**treat your mother well. she cares for you more than you think.**

Their lower lip quivered. 

 

Alphys and Undyne left their apartment that morning to find the same gift you had left for everyone else. They took the tape apart, catching the check before it fell, and read over the message you had left them. A purple sweet pea and a red ginger. 

Undyne smiled a little when she read her's. 

**literally, you are the strongest monster i know. it's insane.**

**treat alphys right. if you don't, i'll come back from the dead and beat you.**

**you know i can.**

**i wish you many happy years with alphys. keep getting stronger.**

Alphys covered her mouth when she read over the message. 

**i haven't known you for too long.**

**but you are utterly sweet and adorable, alphys.**

**may you and undyne use this money however you wish.**

**and alphys?**

**love undyne with all your heart, as she will with her own.**

**because you never know when you won't be able to do it anymore.**

They held each other tightly that morning. 

* * *

Sans laid against the foot of the bed while he sat on the floor, wiping his tears as they seemed to flow consistently down his eyes. He stopped wiping his face, lifting the paper spider lily you had carefully crafted for him, and a letter that was opened and lightly crinkled on the floor. 

But he smiled. 

Oh, how he smiled. 

**sans.**

**you're currently asleep as i'm writing this. but by the time you get it... well, i'm not sure what you'll be doing.**

**but i'm gone, sans.**

**i'm gone.**

**but i'm also here, y'know? you're probably reading this in my voice, or imagining me writing this late at night. and that's the beauty of my words, is that they'll be around, no matter how much or little you use them, or remember them.**

**when you get this, i'm assuming you found the box. please hand the flowers and money out to everyone. i would like to have a little piece of me with them, too.**

**have i made an impact in your life, sans? i hope i have. but i won't lie, i feel terrible. you fell in love with someone that would only leave your life in a short amount of time. do you regret falling in love with me? do you regret meeting me?**

**it's okay you do. i won't judge you.**

**hey. can you do me a quick favor?**

**when you grow sad, try to understand what got you to your lowest point. the more adaptable you are of your feelings, there is a greater chance of you getting through. you have to make changes with yourself, with those who surround you. and you cannot be afraid to face them.**

**honestly, this feels like i'm giving you a list of errands to do. i almost feel even worse than i do.**

**sans. i will always love you. but if you love me in return, you have to let me go. you cannot keep clinging onto me. but it's easier said than done. it's funny what love does to you. it seems that the course of love never runs as smoothly as we want it to.**

**i'm happy, sans. i have never been this happy in my life. i had the pleasure of sharing this happiness with you. for that, i am eternally grateful.**

**please be good, sans. please be good. i love you so much.**

**please.**

**\--sybil**

15. **~~**Die peacefully.**~~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to thank every single one of you who commented, who left kudos, or who just simply skimmed the story. without you, i wouldn't have finished this story. i'm glad my writing has moved a lot of you, and i aim to do more.  
> i also want to thank [KaithlynFireBreather](http://kaithlynfirebreather.deviantart.com/art/Paper-Flowers-by-smallybells-593743645) for the inspiration of the flower meanings in her fanart.  
> please follow me @ [smallybells.tumblr.com](http://smallybells.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk or for anything else you need.


	24. Chapter 24

this is not a new chapter; this first part has been finished for months. but this is an announcement that there is a sequel to paper flowers. i have just uploaded the first chapter.

yes, you may keep your tissues. and yes, you're allowed to hate me.

carry on. c:


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